


Dead in Love

by CrunchySalad



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Porn With Plot, Smut, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchySalad/pseuds/CrunchySalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ulquiorra is a typical drug-addled nihilist and Grimmjow is the homeless man he sometimes sleeps with. Grimmjow might be going crazy, with his talk of some strange desert world, and Ulquiorra finds himself caught up in his insanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All the espada will be in this fic, they will each get a smut scene with either Grimmjow or Ulquiorra, and there will be some bizarre semblance of a plot buried in all the gratuitous sex. But not all the sex will be pretty. If that sounds like your kind of thing, well, enjoy ^_^

"I'm not afraid to let you kill me, I know  
No other way to feel your hollow bones  
I fade into the shadow with you, I know

So dead in love, so dead in love  
Did you hear my heart stop beating  
Guess it's never enough, no it's never enough  
Until my heart stops beating"

 _~ Dead in Love, Josh Homme in The Desert Sessions_

 

It was cold. A beautiful kind of cold than ran right through his bones. As though he was laying in the middle of a field of snow, as though he was melting into it, his body turned to ice and nothingness. This was his world; this was what the world should be. In the periphery of his senses, there was another body. Above him, around him. Soft grunts and pleasure that only meat could provide. . . but he was beyond just meat right now, he had transcended the confines of his own body.

Ulquiorra woke up. The first thing he saw was the cracked, gray ceiling above his head. He could hear the water leaking from an old faucet. Drip. Drip. And, louder than that, someone rummaging through his refrigerator. Ulquiorra sat up. Warm liquid dripped out of his ass, right onto new silk boxers. Someone had fucked him while he had been too drugged to do anything about it. Someone had fucked him, and the bastard had put his boxers back on without even cleaning him up.

"Grimmjow."

The rummaging stopped. A shock of blue hair appeared from the top of his refrigerator door, and then two disinterested eyes. The only light in the one-room apartment was from a neon sign from across the alley way, and it shone in through the window to bath Grimmjow's handsome features in an eerie light.

Life was in grayscale. The refrigerator, the walls, the countertops, everything a different shade of gray. And right dab in the middle of it all was Grimmjow, a splash of peach and blue bathed in red light.

"What?" One word, betraying nothing but a light tinge of boredom.

"What are you doing here?"

"Fuck if I know," Grimmjow replied. "Don't remember anything. One minute I'm in the park, next minute I'm here in your apartment. Like I'm traveling through fucking time and space."

"You're going crazy."

But, no, that wasn't right. Grimmjow had always been crazy, ever since the first time they had met. Ulquiorra stood up to go take a piss, noting that he was more sore than usual. He supposed Grimmjow had been particularly rough. But then again, Grimmjow was always a little bit too rough.

"At the very least," Ulquiorra said, "you could have waited until I was conscious."

"What's the point?" Grimmjow asked. "I wanted to get my rocks off an hour ago, so I did. Besides, fucking you stoned out of your mind isn't any different than fucking you awake. Like I'm fucking a corpse, either way."

"So why do you still do it?"

He could see Grimmjow shrug in his mind, even though he couldn't see Grimmjow himself as he entered the bathroom.

"Still feels good," Grimmjow said. "It's still a hot hole to get off in."

Ulquiorra didn't bother shutting the door. He peeled off his boxers and tossed them in the corner with all his other dirty clothes. He stood in front of the toilet, watching as his piss came out an almost brown color. That probably wasn't a good sign. As the stream of his urine hit the toilet bowl he could hear his microwave running, that strange radioactive hum followed by three beeps. Done. He shook his cock out and made his way to the sink, then washed his hands.

His reflection stared back at him from a cracked, dirt-encrusted mirror. His skin was beyond pale; there was a dull gray pallor to it that matched his walls. His eyes were sunken into his head, the pupils dilated, the green of his irises too bright to be natural. That strange luminescence would dim as the drugs faded from his system, but Ulquiorra knew that by then he would probably have taken another hit. There was nothing else to do, after all. Ennui bore down on him like an unbearable weight, the listless city around him providing all the entertainment of an analog clock.

Do drugs or fuck Grimmjow. Ulquiorra preferred the former.

He left the bathroom and slipped on a pair of jeans. No boxers. Three steps was all it took to get to the kitchen, to pour himself a glass of water from the tap. He sat down and watched as Grimmjow ate leftover pad thai that Ulquiorra had bought maybe three days ago.

"I was serious, you know," Grimmjow said, in between bites. "About traveling through time and space. Sometimes I'm here, the next minute I'm in the Other World. And sometimes I'm nowhere. Monday I'm sleeping in a park. Wednesday I'm fucking you. Saturday I'm shapeshifting into a panther in a huge desert. And nothing in between."

"You should see a psychologist about that," Ulquiorra said.

Grimmjow scowled. "No, I'm telling you, it's real. You're there, too, in the desert. I've seen you."

"I've never been to any desert." He had never stepped foot outside of this city. This gray, decaying city, full of tall buildings and wretched people and absolutely nothing of note.

"You're there," Grimmjow said, blue eyes burning bright with conviction. "I see you."

"You need help."

Grimmjow scoffed, lips twisting downward in an ugly kind of way. "You're acting like you actually give a shit."

"When did I say that?" Ulquiorra asked. "I never offered any help. I merely made an observation that you need some. As long as your insanity doesn't affect me, I could care less what you do."

"Yeah. Sure. You don't feel anything about anything, so why should you care about me?"

"And you feel too much," Ulquiorra countered. Too rash, too hotheaded, too emotional. Grimmjow was all id and no ego.

Grimmjow visibly bristled at the accusation. His muscles tensed, and for a moment it looked as though he might pounce. But then he relaxed. He set his chopsticks down on the table and got up. "You're right. Why should I give a shit if you're worried about me or not? All you're good for is a fuck every now and then, and not even a decent one at that."

Ulquiorra didn't even look up as Grimmjow made his way to the front door. The man had come for what he wanted. As far as Ulquiorra was concerned, now he could just leave. Grimmjow didn't disappoint him. Within seconds the door opened and closed, and Grimmjow's footsteps echoed down the empty hallway. Ulquiorra drank the rest of his water, then went back to his bed to take another hit of his favorite drug, some artificial compound that had just been cooked up. Ice-nine. It could destroy you just as efficiently as its namesake, if you let it, and much more subtly too.

Ulquiorra remembered the first time he had met Grimmjow, but in his memories, everything was covered in frost and snow.

An empty street. Odd, really, how a street can be so void of life, while one block over people thrum back and forth en mass. Ulquiorra walks with bare feet over snow. Part memory and part dream, the cold envelops him, forms ice crystals in his blood. Off to the side, in an alley way, there is a sound. Indiscernible to most, but Ulquiorra is more astute than that. Someone is following him.

Ulquiorra keeps walking. For now, at least, he doesn't care. The footsteps are well hidden behind him, keeping mere yards away at all times. Finally, the one in pursuit makes his move. A tall frame, topped with blue hair. A t-shirt that fits snugly over a broad chest and tattered corduroy pants. Too fast he's beside Ulquiorra, and he lifts his leg up for a kick.

In Ulquiorra's mind, the man's movements are done in slow motion. Strength and technique well up inside of him. He doesn't know from where, or else he doesn't remember. In one move he dodges the high kick. In a few more moves he has the man's arm in his hands, has it pressed against the man's back, and he is twisting, twisting as the man cries out, until he hears a satisfying crack. He lets go and the man falls forward onto the ground. The man's head hits the wall before he turns around, cradling his arm to his chest. Angry blue eyes glare up at Ulquiorra. Blue the color of glowing azurite. They burn into Ulquiorra's psyche, stirs something familiar inside him.

"Trash," Ulquiorra says. He takes out the cash that is crumpled in his pocket and tosses it at the man. The man winces as it bounces off his cheek to land in the snow. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? Take it. A few dollars is more than good enough for a pitiful creature like you."

The man snarls, an ugly, feral thing. "Fuck you. Keep your fucking money."

Ulquiorra doesn't respond, just walks away.

The man calls after him. A taunt, full of baseless pride. "How do you know I was even trying to mug you? Maybe I was trying to rape you."

When Ulquiorra turns the man is gone. There is an hole in the snow from his body, and, next to that, the light imprint where a few crumpled dollars bills were just sitting. So much for baseless pride.

Fast forward, but just a bit.

Ulquiorra looks for a place to sit down. In one hand he holds a black plastic tray. The tray holds a sandwich and a bag of potato chips he probably won't eat. In his other hand he holds a bottle of water. The shop is busy, but most patrons rush in and out, stopping for only as long as it takes to stand in line. So it's not terribly hard to find a seat.

Ulquiorra sits down at a small table. Surprise flares briefly inside of him, though it doesn't show on his face or in his movements. At the table next to him is the blue-haired man, a bowl of soup sitting in front of him. Ulquiorra can smell it from where he sits, some faint scent of tomato and basil.

The man glares at him. "You're that asshole I met a few minutes ago. The one who fucking broke my arm."

"That was months ago," Ulquiorra says, though he's not sure what good it would do to argue with a crazy man. "If it was a moment ago, your arm would still be broken."

The man glances down at his arms, surprise registering on his features. He stretches them out, turns them at the elbows. Fully functional.

'Well," he says, back to glaring at Ulquiorra, "doesn't change the fact that you're a little prick."

This man. There is something about him, something that tugs at Ulquiorra's consciousness. In a world where he holds little interest in most things, Ulquiorra is interested in this man.

"I know you," The man says, out of nowhere. He leans forward, eyes narrow. "I've met you before."

"You met me a few months ago. I broke your arm."

"Nuh uh." The man leans forward even more. His eyes take on a faint glow. "I met you in the other world. Segunda Etapa Ulquiorra."

"While I admit you've discovered my name," Ulquiorra says, "the words you placed in front of it mean nothing to me."

"Yeah. Maybe. Maybe not." The man stares into his soup, as though it holds the answers for whatever questions are running through his mind. But then he pushes out of his chair without even touching this. "Fuck this shit. I'm going home."

"Home?" Ulquiorra asks, more out of reflex than any real curiosity.

"Yeah." The man's lips twist into a perverse mockery of a grin. "I live right across the street."

Ulquiorra watches the man go. He looks out the window. Across the street is a park.

Fast forward again, ten minutes this time.

Ulquiorra stands in front of a frozen park bench. In the distance children are playing. On the next bench over a woman feeds pigeons, cooing at them as they coo back at her.

"You know," the blue-haired man says, eyes taking on a predatory gleam as he licks his lips, "if you keep following me, I really will rape you."

"Fine," Ulquiorra says. "I don't mind."

The man follows him back home, but Ulquiorra fucks him against the wall of the hallway before they even reach Ulquiorra's apartment. It's quick and dirty, but satisfying nonetheless. When they get into the apartment they fuck again, on the kitchen table, Ulquiorra on the bottom this time. The man is a rough and inconsiderate lover, but Ulquiorra doesn't mind. It feels good. More importantly, it _feels_.

Drip.

Ulquiorra stirred from unconsciousness. How long he had been drugged, he didn't know. How many hits had he taken since Grimmjow's visit? Had he even left his apartment in that time? Time. . . such an artificial construct. A day could pass just as easily as a second, which could seem just as long as a week.

Drip. Drip. The leaky faucet. And then, Ulquiorra realized, a second set of breaths. Someone else's breathing, in harmony with his. He opened his eyes to find Grimmjow straddling him, looking down at him, face buried in the shadows. Hands press against his sternum.

"When did you get here?" Ulquiorra asked.

Grimmjow made no answer for the time being. His hands slid up to rest against slim collarbones. When Grimmjow did speak, his tone was contemplative, though there were still harsh undertones to it.

"Have you ever heard that story old man Aristophanes told?" he asked. "Way back when, people used to have two heads, four arms, four legs. Spinning round and round, like they were doing cartwheels. Then one day whatever God they prayed to decided to cut them in half, right down the middle. . . and that's us, you know. That's why people are always searching for their other half. But what do you do when you find him? How do you become whole again? You fucking can't, no glue's gonna do that shit. You just have to destroy the other half of you. . . so that there's only one of you left. That's the only way you can feel whole."

Fingers wrapped around his throat, pressing down with utmost deliberation. It didn't hurt so much. It felt good, actually, the heat and the pressure, and the increasing inability to think or feel. But then, as quickly as he was there, Grimmjow was gone. Ulquiorra breathed in deeply as he stared into empty space. He raised his fingers to his throat, so constricted just a moment before. Nothing. A dream, or a hallucination from the drugs. He could still feel ice in his veins. The only thing he could hear was dripping water. Ulquiorra sat up in his bed, and wondered if he should get his faucet fixed.

At some point in Ulquiorra's life, the phone rang. He contemplated just letting it ring until it went dead, but in the end he picked it up.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end felt like fingernails tracing across his skin. "Ulquiorra Cifer? This is the police department. We have something here that belongs to you, if you would so kindly come to pick it up."

Before he could ask any questions the line went dead. He went, because he had nothing else to do. At least it was something to fill his day. He entered the police station, then walked down a dirty gray hallway. There was a rectangle of light at the end of it, broken only by a few steel bars and the silhouette of a man. A window into the inner belly of the station. He walked closer, to see eyes closed into slits and a wide, eerie smile.

"Ulquiorra Cifer?" the man said, and it sounded almost like a hiss. "So you're Grimmy's friend. Said you were his one phone call."

Grimmjow. Ulquiorra considered turning around and walking out of the station, but he had made it this far already. He might as well finish it. "What exactly am I here for?"

"Well, our little Grimmy was in another fight. Other guy's not pressing charges, probably too scared to, so he's free to go. We just need someone to sign out for him. You know, state that he won't be a nuisance to society."

"I can't do that," Ulquiorra said.

"Just a technicality." If possible, the grin just grew wider.

A clipboard appeared between them. The man pushed it out an opening at the bottom of the barred window. It was covered by text too small for Ulquiorra to read, and had a large rectangle at the bottom. Ulquiorra took the attached pen and signed.

"By the way, Mr. Cifer, when we picked him up Grimmy was pretty close to the site if the latest arson attack. You don't think he'd have anything to do with that, do you?"

"If he did," Ulquiorra said, "he'd no doubt be bragging about it."

The man chuckled. A flat, joyless sound. "Yeah. Suppose that's true. It's a shame, though, a whole family killed off."

Ulquiorra shrugged. A family of people who were no doubt waiting to die anyway. There was no meaning to anything people did; there was no meaning to their lives. It was almost an act of sympathy, their ends coming sooner rather than later.

The door next to the window was opened, and two uniformed officers pushed Grimmjow out. Grimmjow stumbled a few steps but caught himself, one palm hitting the hard wall with a resounding smack. The door closed again, and the man behind the window disappeared.

They walked through the city without saying anything. The sound of traffic, of tires squealing and cars honking. The sound of people walking past, of high heels and loafers on pavement. The sound of half-mumbled conversations, drifting in and out as they walked past. But not the sound of their voices; no noise filled the foot of space between them.

Once they got back to the apartment, Grimmjow pinned him to the wall. Ulquiorra's head hit gray stucco with a low thud, and his vision blurred for just one second. He easily pushed Grimmjow away, and Grimmjow knew well enough the power difference between them not to push it.

"I'm not in the mood," Ulquiorra said.

"Just like a cunt," Grimmjow said, sneering. "What's the matter, got a headache?"

Ulquiorra ignored him, knowing that anything else would provoke the man. If he ignored him, Grimmjow would disappear. Ulquiorra had done his good deed for the day, he didn't need to do another. Instead he went to his bed, took out a carefully folded piece of tissue paper from his nightstand. He opened it with careful fingers.

"Let me guess," Grimmjow continued, anger simmering underneath his skin like a pot of water about to boil. "Getting stoned again? Can't fucking do anything else, can you? Well, I'll tell you right now, I'm gonna fuck you bloody and raw once you're drugged up. I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you won't even be able to roll over for a week."

Four small crystals stared back at him, gleaming under refracted neon light. They were all uniform, each one identical to the last. He picked one up and placed it on his tongue. Dissolve and disperse. Grimmjow was still muttering at him, but he couldn't hear it anymore. His head hit his pillow.

Words drifted through his mind, even as the ice overtook him.

"I figured out why you don't want to fight me. You're afraid that we'll destroy each other."

Grimmjow's voice. Grimmjow's words. But for all Ulquiorra tried, he couldn't place it in his memories. Grimmjow had never said anything like that to him. So why was he remembering it?


	2. Chapter One

The feel of leather underneath him, the sight of a speckled off-white ceiling overhead. There was a clock ticking in the background, each second a tiny click click. A pen tapping against a notebook. Where the hell was he. . . right. Ulquiorra had told him to see a psychologist. And then the police had made it a mandatory condition of release after his last arrest. Well, there was nothing wrong with laying on a comfy couch for an hour every now and then. Let them dissect and analyze him all they wanted, fuck if he cared.

"Where were you just now, Grimmjow?"

"Hmm?"

"It was as though you were mentally gone. You wouldn't answer any of my questions. Were you in your other world?"

An image of never ending sand dunes, the feel of blistering heat followed by chilling cold as day faded to night. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

"Nothing much to tell," Grimmjow said. In the other world, he was a king. Sometimes human, sometimes panther, he could change his shape at will. With one jump he'd glide over countless dunes. He was free there, free in a way he wasn't here. But that unbearable sense of loneliness. . . it crippled him, sometimes, made him want to curl up under a dune and sleep the ages away. The desert looked the way the city felt. Empty. "I've already told you everything."

"In that case, why don't we talk about that building that was burned down in the last arson attack? You were there again, weren't you? You seem to be at those scenes quite a bit."

"Doc, you accusing me of something?" Talking to a disembodied voice was always a little off putting, even if his doctor's heat was close enough to feel. The tick of the clock, the tap of the pen. . . they seemed to grow louder as the seconds stretched on. Or maybe he was being a little too imaginative.

"Of course not, Grimmjow. But I'd like to discuss what you said about the crime scene. You said you saw an opening to your other world."

"I did?" Then Grimmjow remembered. He remembered flames and the scorching heat they radiated. Too far away to burn him, but close enough to suffocate. He remembered figures, humans, dancing in the flames, chunks of them melting into nothingness. And he remembered the wall of the house next door. Looking like a sheet of paper with a tear through part of it. And through that tear, light blue sand dunes that seemed to stretch on to infinity. "Yeah. Guess I did."

"Do you feel as though there's some connection with the serial arsons and your other world?"

"Fuck if I know." He had been drawn to it like a moth to a flame. A way to travel to the other world at will, whenever he wanted. But before he had reached it it had closed up, and his fingers had met only cold stone.

Maybe they were all right, Grimmjow thought, maybe he was crazy. But he was sure that everything was real. The other world, his skips through time and space. The was a reason for it, a reason why it happened to him. Maybe fate wanted him to solve these serial arsons. . . yeah, right. Like there weren't more reliable heros around. Like there weren't people who actually gave a shit.

A small, repeated ding filled the air. Five times and then a hand reached out to press down on the offending timer. The session was over. Grimmjow sat up, hands grabbing on to that cool leather. His doctor was smiling at him, just a small twist to his lips, amber eyes looking out through rectangular glasses that looked like they were made of bone.

"I hope you found this meeting productive, Grimmjow."

"Yeah. Sure. I feel less crazy already."

"I'm glad to see you still have that sense that humor."

The silence stretched between them. Grimmjow leaned back against the cool leather couch, swung his arms over the back of it.

"Isn't this where you say 'same time next week,' Doc?"

"Grimmjow, what do I keep saying? Call me Syazel." That smile spread, lips thin and pink like slices of salmon. Long, elegant fingers reached up towards those glasses and slipped around them. Soon the glasses sat, content to wait patiently, on the pale wood surface of Syazel's desk. "I don't have another patient for another hour."

The leather creaked as Grimmjow sunk even more into it. "What the fuck does that have to do with me?"

"I thought we could try some. . . alternative therapy."

"Misusing your authority, Doc?"

"Don't be that way, Grimmjow," Syazel said, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

If Grimmjow were to press his palm against Syazel's collarbone, he could probably feel the words forming.

"So what's in it for me, Doc?" Grimmjow asked. "You should know I usually charge for this type of thing."

"I'll make you feel good. A psychologist is supposed to make his clients feel good, isn't he? Besides, I'll give you a good piece of information. Maybe it's connected to your memory lapses."

"What is it? Some kind of psychobabble?"

"No. It's an honest-to-goodness, concrete piece of information. You look as curious as a cat, Grimmjow. Don't tell me you don't want to know."

Grimmjow shifted, laid back down on the couch. The speckled ceiling once again filled his field of vision. His palms once again touched down on cool leather. He threw his arms up and crossed them behind his head..

"Fine," he said. "But don't expect me to do any work. You want my dick? Then take care of it yourself."

"With pleasure." A turn of his wrist and a flip of his hair, and then Syazel reached down deep into his desk. He pulled out frayed white fabric strips that fluttered with convected air. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Do your worse."

Footsteps, muffled by carpet, traced a path from Syazel's desk to the couch. Directly by Grimmjow's hands. Rough cotton touched the sensitive skin of his wrists, dragged across it. And then it was pulled, tightened around him enough to hurt. His bound hands were tied to the small table next to the couch, then he felt fabric flutter over his forehead, slide over eyes. The strip of fabric was tied behind him and his world was reduced to light filtered through heavy white cloth. Without his eyesight Syazel's next movements were even louder than before. Footsteps leading to the middle of the couch, appreciative humming as hands ran over his denim-clad hips.

Those hands found their way to his zipper and undid his pants. The denim felt hard as it was pulled down over the skin of his thighs, dragging until it sat piled up at his knees. His groin and thighs were completely bare now. Syazels hands ran across his thighs, up and down, tickling the tiny hairs there.

"You really are quite the specimen," Syazel said. "Even when you're soft you're so big. Out of all my patients, your dick might just be my favorite."

"You do this with all your patients, Doc?"

"It's purely research, of course. A kind of Kinsey-esque survey, if you will."

First Grimmjow felt hot breath ghosting against his cock, then he felt soft skin nuzzling against it. The tip of Syazel's nose, the plane of his cheek. And then just the briefest hint of a tongue, darting out every now and then to brush against him.

"You're not going to get me hard with just that," Grimmjow said.

He could feel Syazel's thin smile spread across his cock.

"Oh, don't worry," Syazel replied, every word a hot whisper on Grimmjow's sensitive flesh. "I have more planned for you."

The length of a warm tongue pressed more boldly against him, lapping at him like a kitten at its milk bowl. Gently, slowly, up and down from the tip of Grimmjow's cock to right below his pubic hair. Grimmjow regretted, for a moment, allowing Syazel to tie him up. What he wanted was to bury his hands in that cotton candy pink hair and shove the man's mouth down on his cock. This foreplay shit was tedious.

But then a hot, moist mouth completely covered his still limp cock, and Grimmjow forgot about all that. The suction as that mouth swallowed around him, the friction as that tongue swirled around him, this was what Grimmjow wanted. He felt himself growing hard inside Syazel's mouth. The tip of his cock hit the roof of it before extending even further, trying to push its way down his throat. He could feel and hear Syazel gag around him, and the noise made Grimmjow smirk.

"Too big for you, Doc? It's a lot to handle."

His cock bounced as the mouth drew away and it was exposed to cool air. Grimmjow frowned, but he figured it would be back soon enough.

"I see that I might have to add narcissism to your list of ailments," Syazel replied. "Though, in this case, it might be justified."

Fingers curled around the base of his cock. That hot mouth wrapped around the head of it, more carefully this time. As it licked and sucked him, Grimmjow once again wished his hands were free. Wished he could shove Syazel's head completely down, until the man's nose was buried in his pubic hair and he could fuck the shit out of his mouth and pour enough cum down his throat to choke him. Instead he settled for thrusting upwards, as ineffectual as that may be. But Grimmjow's cock still hardened despited Syazel's slow pace, until it was solid as wood and leaking a steady drip of pre-cum onto Syazel's tongue.

"Lick my balls," Grimmjow muttered. "Suck on them a little bit."

He could feel Syazel smile around his cock before pulling back, leaving his cock to shiver in the now cool air. The hand that had been gripping the base of his cock started to move, squeezing and stroking him, and a tongue came out to lap at his balls. Grimmjow groaned as one of them was sucked into a waiting mouth. That tongue came back to swirl around it, lavishing it with attention. The same treatment was given to his other ball before Syazel pulled away to press kisses against his testicles.

"If I suck you off," Syazel murmured, "will you still have the energy to fuck me afterwards?"

"Fuck yeah. So why don't you get those lips back around my dick, yeah?"

His hips thrust up involuntary as his cock was sucked back into that hungry mouth. Syazel continued to suck the top half of it as he stroked the bottom. Several minutes and Grimmjow could feel himself getting close. That feeling built up in his dick and balls, growing stronger.

"I'm coming," he groaned.

Syazel removed his mouth, and Grimmjow wished he could see the good doctor's face as he came all over it. But as he felt his cock twitch and shoot there was only whiteness, only the feeling of his cum splattering over his lower abdomen.

"Suck it," he said. "Suck it before it can go soft again."

Syazel obeyed quickly enough, though it was in his best interest to do so. His mouth closed around Grimmjow's cock once again and started to suck. After awhile he withdrew, apparently satisfied with the state of Grimmjow's cock. Fingers dragged along the skin of his stomach, dipping into the cum that had fallen there.

"What are you doing?" Grimmjow asked. "Saving it up for something?"

"I'm shoving it up my ass," Syazel replied, "so that you don't rip me in half when you're inside me."

The leather beneath Grimmjow creaked. The cushions shifted, accommodating someone else's weight. He could feel someone else's skin on either side of his legs now, warmth pressed against him. And then he could feel a slick tightness, sliding down to envelope his cock.

"Fuck," Grimmjow said. It was all heat and softness and it felt so good. As close to heaven as he was ever going to get; maybe God had invented the pleasures of sex as a consolation prize for sinners. But theological debate wasn't what Grimmjow was concerned about right now, not when he was completely buried. He could feel Syazel's ass and legs settled on top of his thighs. Hands came to grip just above his knees, and that tightness clenched and re-clenched around him.

"Fuck. Stop doing that and move already."

And Syazel did. Up and down, that tight heat moved on and off him, over and over again. The friction was almosr unbearable. He wanted to shoot off into that heat, bury his seed deep inside of it. He thrust upwards every time it moved off, wanting to get back inside it again. He could hear Syazel's low breathing, his small gasps and occasional short moans. He wished he could just grab the slim man's hips and slam him over and over onto his cock. He pulled on his hands, felt the cloth rub his skin the wrong way. It was tied to tightly.

"Getting a bit impatient, Grimmjow?" Syazel asked, his voice a breathy moan. "I can speed it up a bit, if you want."

"Yeah. Fuck yeah."

The fingers on his knees tightened and the pace on his cock sped up. A sharp intake of breath rushed into his lungs. Syazel cried out, more cum splattered onto his stomach, and he felt the tight heat spasm around him. So close. . . a few more minutes, Syazel bouncing on top of him, and Grimmjow was coming too, spilling himself inside of the other man.

The fabric covering his eyes was ripped off and Grimmjow found himself staring up at the night sky, framed on either side by the tops of lit-up skyscrapers. He scrambled to his hands and knees. He was fully clothed. His wrists weren't sore. He pushed himself to his feet. His vision blurred, his limbs shook. A wave of dizziness and he was leaning against a nearby wall, clutching at his head.

Where was he? What had he been doing? He had to remember. Syazel had been telling him something important. Remember. Remember.

Pink hair brushing his cheeks. Blood flowing to his palms and fingers.

"Pick a direction. Pick a street. And just keep going."

"What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"Call it a hunch. I have a feeling it only has to do with everything."

The lightheaded feeling receded, if only a little. There was more, but he couldn't remember it. But at least he could stand without feeling as though he was going to fall. He stood up straight and started to walk out of the narrow street he had found himself in.

Pick a direction. Pick a street. Well, it's not like Grimmjow had anything better to do. He raised an arm and hailed a taxi.

* * *

Ulquiorra made his way down into the subterranean cavern that was his usual watering hole and took a seat at the darkest end of the bar. The light bulb above this section had blown out years ago and the owners had never seen fit to replace it, bless their souls. So Ulquiorra was afforded his little space of darkness in the middle of all the shades of gray around him.

Four minutes and a dirty glass was placed in front of him, bubbling with some strange brown concoction. His usual. No words were needed to complete the exchange, and most of the people who worked here knew better than to engage him in conversation.

Ulquiorra sipped his drink, relaxing minutely with each trickle of alcohol that burned its way down his throat. Halfway through he found that he was so relaxed he hardly minded all the people around him. All the cigarette smoke, all the useless jabbering about nothing in particular. It was all so pointless. How come people couldn't realize how pointless their lives were, how pointless they were?

Ulquiorra was done with his drink. A new one was placed in front of him, but this time the bartender's hand stayed wrapped around the bottom of it. Ulquiorra's eyes traveled up a white-clothed arm, past a black vest, to slicked back brown hair and a soft smile that was much more menacing than it seemed. Ulquiorra knew this man, knew that he could care less about whether his customers wanted to talk or not.

"What are you doing here, Ulquiorra?"

"I wasn't aware that I wasn't welcome," Ulquiorra replied.

The hand holding his glass relaxed, withdrew.

"My apologies," said the bartender, though he didn't sound remorseful in the least. If anything, he sounded highly amused. "I didn't ask to be antagonistic. I ask out of curiosity. I suppose I should have said. . . to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I'm looking for Yammy, or one of his men."

The bartender leaned back, crossed his arms in contemplation. "Yammy. . . hmm. . . I'm sorry to say I haven't seen him in weeks. A problem with his supply. Apparently the man is busy taking care of some. . . not so friendly competition, if you will."

Ulquiorra nodded and turned back to his drink. "Thanks."

"Of course."

The man walked away, but now there was a new presence at Ulquiorra's elbow. A tall glass, garnished with a cherry and slice of orange, was placed on the countertop next to him. It was accompanied by long fingers and perfectly manicured purple nails. Ulquiorra looked to the side to see cleavage pushed together by a good bra and little black dress. He looked up to see a manic grin and long, straight black hair. Everyone's favorite pre-op working girl.

"Ulquiorra," the woman said. "You looking for Yammy? Out of ice already?"

"Do you have any on you, Nnoitra?"

"Maybe I do," Nnoitra said, her voice a teasing hum. "But maybe it's only for entertaining dates."

"How much do you cost these days?"

"Fifty new credits for an one hour is the standard. You want extras, you can add them a la carte."

"Fine. Let's go."

Nnoitra got off her stool and Ulquiorra followed, leaving enough money on the bar to cover his drinks and tips. He followed Nnoitra outside and through some narrow alleys, then up a metal staircase that shook and creaked with their every step. At the top of the staircase was a door, leading them into a narrow hallway. Paint peeling from the walls and floors unfinished. Nnoitra led them through an unmarked door and then they were both bathed in purple.

It wasn't so much the furnishings, which were every shade of dull under the rainbow. It was the string of miniature lanterns the provided the light, filtered through crinkled purple paper. Ulquiorra seated himself on the edge of the bed, promptly sinking into the too soft mattress. Nnoitra was in the corner and Ulquiorra could hear the movement of paper and knick knacks as she rumbled through them. Eventually she emerged victorious, a small piece of tin foil beneath her fingers. A grin spread across those deep red lips.

"Now. Shall we have some fun?"

Ulquiorra's eyes focused on that little diamond of foil, gleaming silver in the dim lights. "What do you have in mind?"

"Just thinking you should get your money's worth." A voice almost like a leer. "Guys like you are just my type, after all."

Nnoitra leaned over, pulled down the fabric covering her chest. Two milky-white globes spilled out of her dress, forced up and out. Nnoitra walked closer, closer, until there were only a few inches separating them. And then she unfolded the paper, pressed the crystal against the very tip of her finger, and pressed it so it stayed sitting just above her left nipple.

"Come to Mommy," she said. "Let mommy give you what you need."

Ulquiorra traced his fingers over soft flesh, squeezed his hand over it. He brought his mouth around the brown nipple and sucked. It tasted like ice. Gallons of snow and slush, flooding over his tongue and down into his throat. He could feel the chill spreading through him and he loved it. He suckled on the breast in his mouth, not wanted to miss even a speck of that beautiful ice-nine.

A palm, firm against his forehead. Pushing him away. The nipple fell from his mouth, though a thin trail of spit connected them, if only for a moment longer.

"But that's not what you really need, is it? Baby wants a different type of milk."

Nnoitra lifted her leg up, placed her foot on the bed. The position spread her legs and lifted up her skirt, putting everything she had on display. Black thigh highs running up slim, somewhat shapeless legs. They were attached with slim ribbon to a lace garter belt that sat around Nnoitra's waist. She wore no panties. Instead, a half-hard cock hung in the space between her legs, stiffening with every moment that passed between them.

Nnoitra placed her hand against the nape of Ulquiorra's neck, pressed her cock against his cheek.

"Be good to Mommy, and I'll give you all the milk you want."

Ulquiorra opened his mouth and let the long piece of flesh slide in. He could feel it slide against the inside of his cheek, in and out, but only vaguely. As though he were partially numb. He shouldn't have been aware of it at all. But this drug was a weak shell of what it should have been, a thin layer of ice crowding his psyche without ever immersing it. He could hear Nnoitra's voice, moans and commands, but it seemed so far away. Eventually he was aware of being pushed onto the bed, his ass on the edge of it and his feet on the floor. His pants were removed, then Nnoitra was above him, around him, inside of him. Her tits were bouncing up and down as she fucked him. White, pale flesh. Brown nipples that seemed to be getting lighter, lighter, until they were the color of ice. Ulquiorra reached up and sucked one into his mouth, squeezed the other in his palm. In his mind Artic water flooding down his throat, so much more nourishing than mother's milk.

As he sucked on her tit he could barely feel her cock moving inside of him. In and out, painfully deep every time, each thrust hard and fast. But his body was growing more and more numb as the ice nine took over, his consciousness more and more dim. Until Nnoitra's tits and cock were barely in the periphery of his senses.

"Such a good boy. Are you ready for Mommy's milk now? Be a good boy and take it; take it deep inside of you."

Liquid heat was flooding into him, through his ass and into his stomach, but the ice was closing all around it, closing all around him, finally doing its job. And he was back, once again, in his snowy dream world.

Ulquiorra woke up to the sound of an alarm. A dull, monotonous cackle, muffled under layers of clothing and trash. There was purple all around him, and he realized that he was in Nnoitra's room. He sat up. The woman was gone. At least she had let him stay, instead of dumping his body in the alley way like last time. He got up and pulled up his pants, ignoring for now the dull ache in his backside and the dirty, sticky feeling between his thighs. He should leave. He should go home. Or maybe he should find Yammy or maybe look for another dealer. He was out, after all, and cheap stuff bought from prostitutes wasn't a long-term option.

Ulquiorra stumbled out of the room and out of the apartment building. Made his way through the alley ways until he reached a major street. Then he walked around for a little bit, orientating himself. It didn't take him long before realizing exactly what directly he should be heading in. He had walked a few blocks when he heard the sound of a car behind him. The sound of tires accelerating, the sound of tires braking, and a taxi cab almost ran into him as it stopped before him.

The window rowed down, exposing blue hair and blue eyes and lips that were set, strangely, in a straight line.

"Get in," said Grimmjow, "I want to show you something."

"I don't want to see it," Ulquiorra said, and started walking again.

In an instant the door to the taxi slammed open, a hand grabbed his arm, and he was being thrown into the vinyl backseat of the car. Grimmjow climbed in after him, door slamming behind.

"You ain't got a choice in the matter," Grimmjow said, before he turned towards the cab driver. "Go."

Ulquiorra rubbed his head where it had hit the inside of the door. He sat up, feeling the ache pulse through his head. He wondered why Grimmjow didn't seem to know anyone else besides him. He wondered what was so important that he was abducted off the street like this. He wondered how Grimmjow was going to pay cab fare, if he was intending to pay it at all. He got in position to run, in case they needed to dash away once they got wherever they were going.

"Look over there," Grimmjow said. "That yellow neon sign that says Wax Traxx. Remember it."

"Fine."

"Pay attention to where we're going. Pay attention to the street."

Ulquiorra tried to read a street sign as they sped past it. Tenth street. "How long is this going to take?"

"Just pay attention."

Ulquiorra settled in and watched the surroundings as they drove past. The city rolled by in silence, like a movie on fast forward. This part of the city looked exactly like the rest of it. Gray, boring skyscrapers. Neon lights that managed to look dull. Nothing of interest at all. He watched as they drove through the buildings, watched as they entered an area that was more. . . black and charred. Had the arsonists been this methodical? Ulquoirra looked over the burnt down buildings, huge piles of ashes. He didn't remember hearing that the arsonists had targeted whole districts, just isolated buildings. Though he wasn't so keen on keeping up on current events, so it was likely that there was much about the case he didn't know.

In a few minutes they were out of the burnt-down ruins of the city, back to normalcy. And ten minutes after that. . .

"Look," Grimmjow said, pointing, "it's the sign. The yellow Wax Traxx sign."

Ulquiorra looked and, sure enough, it was there. Something swirled in Ulquiorra's head, something strange, before it settled into nothing.

"So what? What does it matter?"

"Haven't you noticed? We've been going in a straight line. We haven't made one turn since we started. And we're right back to where we fucking started."

"I get that," Ulquiorra said. "I'm asking you why it matters."

Because he couldn't really bring himself to care. What difference did it make? He could agree that there was something strange and unsettling about Grimmjow's discovery, but he didn't see what it had to do with him. He wasn't going to live his life any differently because of it, so what was the point of getting worked up about it? But Grimmjow wasn't paying attention to him, wasn't really listening.

"Pay attention this time," he said instead. "Pay attention to the cross streets."

Ulquiorra frowned and wondered when Grimmjow was going to let him go. He decided to do what the other man asked, if only because it would allow him to leave sooner. K Street. L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S. . . then H, I , J, then K again. The Wax Traxx sign glared at them, once again, before thy sped past it.

"This city. It's shaped like a circle. You go out one edge, you come back in on the other side. Those mountains we can see in the distance? There's no fucking way to get to them. Might as well be fake. This little circle of a city, that's our entire world."

"So what?" Ulquiorra asked. "So these streets are a loop. How does that change anything?"

Grimmjow's eyes flashed, even in the darkness of the night. Like a cat under a street lamp. "You're fucking kidding me. You don't care that we're living in some kind of magical petri dish?"

"It doesn't change the way I live my life. It doesn't affect anything."

"But it could be the reason for everything!" Grimmjow's hands were fists at his side. "There's something fucked up going on, and you don't even give a shit. Maybe this has to do with the desert I keep seeing. Maybe it has to do with the arsons. Maybe it has to do with me."

Ulquiorra could feel his headache deepen and spread. "Remind me, again, why I should care about any of that."

"Fuck you. Fucking asshole. I'm going to try to get out of this fucking place. There's something else out there, I guarantee it, and I'm going to find out how to get there. Thought you might like to come along, but I guess not. It makes it easier for me without you anyway."

"Stop the car," Ulquiorra said. "I'm getting out."

This time Grimmjow didn't protest. He let the taxi pull over, let Ulquiorra get out. Ulquiorra took a few steps away from the car when he heard a window roll down, heard Grimmjow's voice call after him.

"You're rotting here, Ulquiorra! You're rotting from the inside out, and you know it."

Ulquiorra ignored Grimmjow and walked away. Whatever Grimmjow was planning, he could do it himself. Ulquiorra wasn't going to get dragged into that mess; he had his own issues to work out, his own goals to accomplish. He had a dealer to find.


	3. Chapter Two

He was going down a chain. Every person was a link, a new piece of information. It really shouldn't have been that hard to find one of Yammy's men, but it took him more than a few conversations, more than a few locations spread out through the city. His search finally led him to one particular city block, one that looked exactly like every other city block.

Ulquiorra walked from the sidewalk down a concrete staircase, came to a stop in front of a dark-colored wall. He knocked. There was a small rectangular panel on the door, at eye level, and it slid open with a creaking noise. A set of eyes peered out at him, dance music pulsing out from behind them.

"I.D."

Ulquiorra dug in his pockets for his card and pulled out a small square piece of plastic. He held it up to the small window. The panel slid shut and the door opened about an inch. Ulquiorra pushed it open and stepped into an environment he usually took great pains too avoid. Loud music, flashing lights, too many people. He looked around as he made his way through the club. It took much too long before he caught sight of a familiar figure, perched on a stool near the bar. Ulquiorra made his way there and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man turned to look at him, eyes hidden behind dark rectangular sunglasses.

"Ulquiorra. I never imagined you in place like this."

"I could say the same about you," Ulquiorra replied. "Are you selling any product today?"

The man shook his head, sending his long dreadlocks flying slightly around him. "There's been a problem with our shipments lately. You'll have to talk to Yammy if you want anything. He's in the back room; I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Ulquiorra nodded and made his way to a roped off staircase alongside one wall. A nod from the man at the bar and the guard there was pulling aside the velvet rope, letting him up. The dance music of the club ebbed away with each step Ulquiorra climbed, replaced by soft, calm music that was much less offensive to Ulquiorra's ears.

There was a room at the end of the staircase. A private bar, leather couches. Well-dressed beautiful people, making a show of sipping drinks and doing drugs. And in the corner, at a booth with a few of his men, was Yammy. The man was hard to miss; he towered over everyone else, a huge mass of muscle and fat. Ulquiorra walked up to the table and waited for Yammy to look up, waited for him to notice. Small brown eyes glowed slightly as they did so, and almost magically there was a space by Yammy's side.

"Ulquiorra. It's such a pleasure to see you."

Not a second after he had taken a seat there was an arm around him, almost engulfing him. He didn't particularly mind. If Yammy wanted to paw at him in exchange for some ice-nine, Ulquiorra was perfectly okay with that.

"I was hoping I could score some ice from you," Ulquiorra said.

"Sorry, my man." Yammy's voice was low and rumbling, like a blues melody. "Ice nine is in short supply right now. Some punk intercepted our latest shipment. Don't worry, though, once we deal with him I'll be in touch with you real quick."

Yammy buried his head in Ulquoirra's neck, lips brushing his flesh and nose sniffing along it. Yammy's other arm came around the front of him, hand gripping his knee. It almost felt like he was being smothered.

"You don't have even a little bit you can sell me, Yammy?"

A tongue traced from his neck up the side of his face, thick and rough.

"Not even a bit. There's too little of it to give away for just money. But maybe I'd be interested in something else."

"You have a room, Yammy?"

A low chuckle. "Yeah. Sure I do."

The hand on his knee was removed. The hand over his shoulder was moved to his back, pushing him forward. He was escorted out of the room. Out of the club. Into a waiting car, accompanied by Yammy and one of his bodyguards. They rode to an apartment building that would be classified as luxury in this city, in that it was clean and afforded more space than your average coffin. As soon as they got into Yammy's room Ulquiorra saw it: shiny blue metal, sitting on the living room table. He had seen cases like those enough times, and headed right towards it. But Yammy's hand caught onto the back of his collar and jerked him back.

"Whoa. Let's save that for later, yeah? I like my boys lucid when I fuck them."

He was shoved onto a bed, limbs spraying over the cotton bed sheets.

"Strip and get on your stomach. I want to see that cute little ass of yours."

Palms pushed himself up, into a position where he could better remove his clothes. It didn't take long to take them off. Shirt and undershirt. Pants. Boxers. When he was done he laid himself across the bed, the soft cotton gliding over his limbs and stomach. He spread his legs, knowing that's what Yammy wanted.

"Delicious."

Warm hands cupped the curves of his ass, pressed against them. Large fingers kneaded them. Lips pressed against the flesh of them. Yammy kissed him there, then sucked a small piece of flesh into his mouth, then bit down. A pattern repeated all over the curves of his backside. Then his ass was being spread, pulled apart, and he could feel hot breath moving over the cleft of it. Yammy buried his face there, breathing in, breathing out, and that thick, rough tongue came out to brush against him. It pressed firm against his skin and moved up and down, over his hole and taint and balls.

His eyes rolled up and his breathing slowed. That wet pressure against his most private of areas, he couldn't help but feel good. Yammy took his time, enjoying the feast laid out in front of him, enjoying Ulquiorra. Eventually the tongue stilled on him, came to rest in a specific spot. The very tip of it pressed against his hole, and it seemed to quiver and undulate its way inside of him.

Fingers gripped the cotton sheets. Legs attempted to spread apart even more. And that wet tongue was opening him up, spreading him apart. It felt impossibly long and thick, impossibly wet. Deeper and deeper, stretching his inner recesses to the limit. His body was almost protesting with the intrusion, except it felt so good. The tongue slithered in and out, twisted inside of him. It made him cry out and arch. Made him feel like he was splitting in half. But he couldn't help but love it, couldn't help but wish that it could go deeper, grow bigger, but then it was drawing away, leaving him strangely bereft. The tongue swiped over the surface of his hole one last time, then was gone.

Yammy shifted his body, and the bed shifted with him, like a canoe in a river. He draped himself of Ulquiorra like a warm, heavy weight. Teeth nipped at his shoulder and the curve of his neck.

"You taste so good. Just like I always thought you would."

The weight lifted, though Yammy's presence remained. Thick fingers nudged at his hole. They slipped inside of him and pulled him wide open, before something even larger was pushed inside with them. Ulquiorra's breath left him. He could feel it so clearly. . . Yammy's cock, Yammy's fingers. It slid completely inside before the fingers were pulled out, then there were hands pressing down on his back. Pressing him into the bed as that cock started to move inside of him.

There was pain. Too much friction as his cock was ground into the mattress with every thrust. Too much pressure as his chest was pushed into the bed. But also pleasure, pleasure that overwhelmed all that, just from getting fucked by Yammy's cock. It wasn't nearly as big as he would have thought, possibly didn't even compare to that tongue, but it was angled perfectly, was hitting everything good inside of him.

"What a sweet ass." Words like grunts, almost blending in with all the other noises Yammy was making. "I should have fucked you a long time ago. I'll give you all the drugs you want if it means I can get inside your tight little hole any time I want. How would you like that, Ulquiorra?"

Ulquiorra moaned in the affirmative, the pressure on his lungs preventing him from doing anything else.

"Yeah, you'd like it just fine. You'd love being my bitch, wouldn't you? Wouldn't matter how much my meat fucked up your hole, you'd still be begging for more if it meant you'd get some ice."

He was close, so close. But before he could come he felt Yammy still, felt Yammy pull out, felt hot cum hit his hole and drip down over his balls. Streaks and streaks of it, until he was a mess and Yammy was walking over to the sink to clean himself off. He moved off the bed a little, enough that he could reach underneath himself and jerk himself off. A few strokes later and he was spilling himself onto the bed, clear jets of liquid falling forward to darken light gray sheets.

Ulquiorra sunk into the bed again, sunk into his afterglow. Let his head and limbs sink forward until he was just a flesh-colored lump on the bed. He could hear footsteps coming out of the bathroom. He turned his head. He could see Yammy's belt, glistening gold. A large hand, tossing a foil packet onto the bed.

"Feel free to stay for awhile. The guard will lock up after you. Look forward to doing business with you again, Ulquiorra."

And then Yammy was walking out. Ulquiorra's vision shifted, focus changing from Yammy's retreating back to the small square packet in front of him. He reached out with shaky fingers and grabbed it. He turned it around. Four square crystals shimmered under the sheer foil. He guessed that was enough for now. Maybe it would even last until the next shipment came in.

Ulquiorra got up and walked towards the bathroom, got into the shower. When he turned the knob the water that came out was almost scalding, burning light red trails on his skin. But it felt good. He cleaned himself up, found a towel, dried himself off. Soon enough he had his clothes back on, ice tucked inside a convenient pocket, and was walking out of the apartment. He nodded at the guard waiting outside and walked out of the building.

As Ulquiorra walked down the street, he was surprised to see that Yammy's car was still parked there, sleek and shiny against the run down curb. He walked farther down the street, until he saw one of Yammy's men, standing against a wall with his gun drawn. Ulquiorra slowed down and finally stopped in front of the man, careful to keep his eyes open for anything out of the ordinary.

"What's going on?" Ulquiorra asked.

"Boss was leaving his apartment when we saw that Aaroniero bastard who interfered with our shipment last time. We took off after him. Hopefully we find and kill the fucker in the next half hour. . . there's a show on tv tonight I want to watch."

Ulquiorra nodded and walked away.

"You be careful, Ulquiorra."

He would have done it even if the man hadn't said anything. He kept his eyes wide open as he walked down the street, continually scanning the area. It was empty, but it nearly always was in this part of town. Every now and then he heard the sound of racing footsteps, the sound of unintelligible shouting. He tried to stay aware of his surroundings, but there was a limit to his senses.

He was walking past a perfectly nondescript side street when it happened. Arms reached out for him, jerked him backwards. He caught a glimpse of a long white mask like an oblong spade, two lines of four holes each running down the sides. A large jacket collar like a reptilian neck frill. Cold metal pressed against his neck, and within seconds Yammy and his men were surrounding him.

"Let me pass." A voice coming from the man holding him. Aaroniero, Ulquiorra assumed. "Let me pass if you want him unhurt."

Yammy's features disappeared and reappeared in the flickering street lights. He looked the same as he always looked. His eyes connected with Ulquiorra's.

"Sorry, Ulquiorra. Nothing personal, you know that."

Two large fingers gestured in the air. The sound came first. Then came the bullets, creeping towards him like they were in molasses. It was almost a cliché. But then a sound filled the air, something like fabric ripping, only a thousand times louder. Aaroniero jerked him to the side. Yammy and the others disappeared. The bullets disappeared. It felt like he was being ripped apart, every piece of his flesh pulled in a million different directions. His eyes shut as his mouth opened, too much in pain to even cry out. And then there was only black.

* * *

It was a little cool tonight. Grimmjow pulled up the collar of his jacket. Shoved his hands in his pockets. Leaned against the wall as he watched the cars ride by. Most of them went by so quickly all he saw were headlights before they disappeared. Every now and then one would slow and a dark silhouette would turn to look at him, before it went off again.

He had spoken some pretty big words to Ulquiorra. Saying that he was going to find a way out of this little fucked up world of theirs, that he was going to figure out what the hell was going on. Without having even a fucking clue where to start. Syazel wasn't around these days, though Grimmjow felt it was pretty fucked up that he couldn't find the man in the ten mile radius he had to work with. And he hadn't yet been able to find anyone else who knew about the anomaly. At least he didn't remember finding anyone. With his time skips and memory lapses, he could never be sure.

But right now, playing Sam Spade was going to take a backseat to procuring those items necessary for day to day living. In other words, he needed money. And there were only two ways he knew of to make money: stealing it and fucking for it. Or, as was the case sometimes, a combination of both.

A silver 1978 Chevrolet Camaro pulled up to the curb. Slowed and then stopped, engine still thrumming with all that power hidden underneath its hood. The windows were tinted a dark shade of night, and one of them was rolling down, bit by bit, until he saw short black hair and two glowing eyes. One the color of cold ice, the other the color of liquid amber. If Grimmjow had never met this person before he would have assumed her a man, albeit an androgynous one. Her manner of dress didn't help, dressed as she was in a tailored man's butler uniform.

"Get in," she said. "And be quick about it."

"Rude bitch," Grimmjow muttered, but he still climbed into the backseat.

The door had barely shut behind him when the car shot off. It sped through traffic, darting from lane to lane, car honks accompanying each movement. A haphazard way to drive, but Grimmjow was used to it. Soon they came to a familiar building. From the outside it looked like any apartment building, gray and rundown. But once inside. . . once inside, they were in a different world altogether.

Grimmjow stepped in through the front door, into the grand foyer of what appeared to be a mansion, if not for the rows of windows along the front wall. But directly in front of him stood two curved staircases, carpeted in rich red, surrounding a topsy-turvy gilded archway that led into the rest of the first floor. The apartment building had been gutted, and some twisted facsimile of a victorian mansion was built in its space.

The woman led him through the archway, through a small hallway covered in golds and reds, and into a small room that barely held the massive couch within it.

"Sit."

And then she left, door shutting behind her.

Grimmjow sunk into the couch, made himself comfortable in the antechamber. He always felt on edge in these kind of places, with their marble walls and silk drapes. Too cushy. Too unreal. He didn't mind coming here to do a job, but never stuck around for long afterwards. His fingers danced over the couch cushions, tapping one after the other, over and over again. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, counted cracks in the gold-plated molding.

Finally a small door in front of him opened. Another woman stepped out, all long wavy brown hair and cleavage spilling out from a too short maid's uniform.

"Mistress Harribel will see you now."

"Well ain't that just peachy keen."

Either the maid didn't hear the sneer in his voice or she chose to ignore it. She stepped to the side and bowed slightly as he stepped past her, as he walked into Tia Harribel's bedroom.

The first thing he saw were the sheer red curtains hanging over the canopy bed, moving just slightly from an open window breeze. The second thing he saw was Tia herself, clad in slinky silk charmeuse in front of her vanity. She was brushing her hair, set in Veronica Lake waves for the day. She didn't lift her eyes from the mirror even when Grimmjow came in, even when he took a seat on the bed.

"Before we start," Grimmjow said, "you should hear my new prices. Thirty for oral. Fifty if you want me to fuck you. And a hundred if you want to fuck me."

The brush stilled in shiny blonde hair.

"Do you hate bottoming that much, Grimmjow?"

"No. Just know how much you like topping."

Said, quite coincidentally, at the exact moment the maid appeared beside Tia, a small cushion in her hands. And on top of that cushion was a flesh-colored strap-on dildo. Tia waved her away.

"I won't be needing that today. I've been aching to have a man inside of me. I might want to try a few. . . different things, though."

"Different," Grimmjow said, "usually costs more."

Tia placed her brush down on a small silver tray, fluffed the ends of her hair with her hands. "Don't worry; I'm more than willing to pay your price, whatever it ends up being. Shall we start, then?"

"Yeah. Sure. It's your dime."

"Strip," Tia said. "Then get on your hands and knees."

Grimmjow bit his tongue to keep from spouting out at the command. He was never that good at taking orders, but Tia had money to throw away and all the willingness in the world to do so. And when it came to that kind of money, Grimmjow was willing to put his pride aside. Though that didn't mean that it wasn't hard to do so.

He pulled off his clothing, piece by piece, and dropped each one to the floor. The maid came to pick each piece up as he did so, folding them neatly and placing them in a short stack on the dresser. Once he was completely bare, goosebumps spreading over his exposed skin, Grimmjow got down on his hands and knees. He waited for whatever it was that Tia wanted to do to him. From his position he could see her slim feet, encased in black and crystal heels, and the smooth hem of her gown. He felt something slick and cool press against his backside. He turned his head, peered around his shoulder. The maid was behind him, in her hand a silicone device shaped somewhat like a capital letter 'T'. The longer end was pressed against him, seeking entrance.

Grimmjow made his body relax. The toy, previously pressing so insistently against his hole, sunk a few inches into him. His breath caught as it hit something inside his ass, as one of the shorter ends came to rest against his taint. He was careful not to move or shift, wary of the pleasure that would no doubt pulse through him if he did.

"It's in, Mistress Harribel."

"Very good. You can leave now."

Small footsteps click clacked against the marble floor, growing softer and softer, until they disappeared entirely.

"As for you," Tia said. "Go ahead and stand up."

Grimmjow closed his eyes and held his breath. For some reason, doing that almost seemed to mute the sensation, bring the pleasure down to more tolerable levels. He could still feel the toy moving inside him, outside him, rubbing against him in the most enticing ways as he moved, but it didn't feel as unbearably good as it could have. Once he was standing his cock was half-hard, and he hadn't even touched it yet. As if reading his thoughts, Tia spoke again.

"Don't touch yourself," she said. "If you do, you can forget about getting paid tonight."

Grimmjow nodded in response, opened his eyes. He saw that Tia was holding something slim and rectangular between her well-manicured fingers, her thumb on a little sliding button. She pushed it upward. Grimmjow cried out as a soft hum filled the air, pitched him forward. His arms clung onto a bedpost and he seated himself down onto the mattress. That thing was vibrating inside of him. And he didn't just feel it where it was in contact with his skin, he swore he could feel it throughout his entire groin. In his balls and at the base of his cock, those vibrations seemed to thrum and pulse. The pleasure was almost debilitating.

He watched as his cock started to harden more, watched as it started to leak. Eyes widening, he watched as stream after stream of creamy fluid started to come out, one right after the other. The consistency of pre-cum, it was the quantity that was surprising. Grimmjow watched as it flowed out of his cock, as it dripped in rivulets to form a small puddle. He could feel a light kind of tension, like pins and needles, filling his body, radiating out from where the toy was vibrating inside of him. There was a feeling of wanting to piss, and then he felt it. It felt like an orgasm, shuddering through his entire body, only it was an orgasm without ejaculating.

His breathing filled the room heavy and erratic, as his cock continued leaking seminal fluid. He looked up again, at the remote in Tia's hand, and watched as she slid that button to the next setting.

The humming increased. The vibration increased. He fell over onto the mattress, curling slightly into himself, watching as his cock leaked stream after stream onto the bed. It was only another few minutes before another orgasm wrecked through him, made his fingers shake as he clung to the bed sheets. And there was a tension building up in his balls and cocks. He needed to cum. He needed to shoot, and this toy wasn't getting him there, even if it was providing him with a different type of pleasure entirely.

"Stop," he said, surprised when it came out as a moan. "I can't take it anymore."

Tia's response was to increase the vibrations even more. Grimmjow cried out as he rolled onto his back. He could feel the silk sheets under him, could feel his fluids leak out his cock and start to coat the skin of his stomach. In the back of his mind he could hear footsteps stepping towards him, but it was hard to concentrate what with the overloading of sensations that he was feeling. The was the sound of fabric slinking to the floor, and then Tia was in his field of vision, nude save for the corset she was wearing underneath her dress. She had the fingers of one hand positioned around the remote, the fingers of the other buried under a thatch of kinky blonde pubic hair. They were moving in and out of her as she watched him.

"Making such a mess, Grimmjow. Don't tell me you've never had your prostate milked before."

Grimmjow bit his tongue to keep from saying anything, knowing that the money was worth more than his need to be an asshole. Tia was such a goddamned freak, but then he knew that about her. There was a reason she tended to pay for sex, after all.

To Grimmjow's immense relief, the remote was set to the highest setting already, he could see that now. At least it couldn't get any worse than this. Or better, he wasn't so sure. He watched as Tia got on the bed, watched as she squatted down over his cock. Her hand gripped the base of it, and then she was sliding down onto it.

Fuck. Fuck, it felt good. While Grimmjow liked men, he had to admit that a pussy felt, at least on a physical level, as good as an ass. A hole was a hole. It was tight and hot and wet, and it felt fucking incredible gripping his cock, and that was the only thing that mattered really, wasn't it? Tia sunk all the way down his cock, then pushed herself back up, building up a rhythm as she fucked herself on it. Her cunt felt good, but she was going to fucking slow. Grimmjow clenched his hands around her hips and flipped them over. He placed his hands on either side of her head and started to piston in and out of her like a sledgehammer. As hard and as fast as he could, so hard that the bed was screaming, sounding like it was going to fall apart. Tia was crying out like the freak she was, moaning a repeated litany of things like "fuck that pussy," "fuck me," "harder," and "fill me up."

"Fucking whore," Grimmjow muttered, figuring it was Tia's turn for some humiliation. Not that it was easy for him to talk, given the double stimulation surrounding his cock and coming from inside his ass. "You'd do anything for a big dick inside your cunt, wouldn't you? You like my big dick fucking you?"

"Yes! Fuck me harder! I love your big dick inside of me."

Grimmjow could feel that tension build up inside him, about to release. And then he came, harder than he ever had before, shooting what felt like gallons deep inside of Tia's pussy.

"Fuck," Tia moaned. "I can feel it. I can feel your cum shooting inside of me."

Grimmjow was barely done shooting when Tia flipped them over again. Grimmjow, feeling pretty out of it, let her. She came to straddle his face, and he got a close up view of her soaking pussy, some white cum visible at the entrance of her hole. He cringed. This wasn't his favorite thing to do, but he was getting paid, and knew full well that she hadn't gotten off yet. At any rate he wasn't being given a choice in the matter. She sat down on his face, smearing her cum-filled pussy all over it. Grimmjow could smell his cum, could smell her juices, as they rubbed all over him.

"Lick it," Tia said. "Stick your tongue in there and clean me up."

Grimmjow darted his tongue out, lapping at her pussy like he was a cat at its milk bowl. He licked all up and down the folds of her labia, then pushed his tongue deep inside of her. He wriggled it around as she squirmed on top of him, undulated it in and out of her. He brought one of his hands to her pussy, feeling inside those folds for her clit. It didn't take long for him to find it, and then he rubbed circles around it with his thumb, careful not to put pressure on the very center of it. Tia, he knew from past experience, was too sensitive there for direct play. With his tongue up her cunt and his thumb on her clit, it wasn't long until she came. A gush of liquid came out of her pussy, coating his tongue and dripping over his face, then she quickly scrambled off of him, too sensitive post-orgasm for any physical stimulation.

Tia lay down on her back, corseting breasts heaving with her deep breaths.

"My purse is on the table. Take what you want."

Grimmjow smirked as he made his way towards the purse, slipping on his clothes as he did so. He helped himself to all the cash in her wallet, even though it was much more than he could have reasonably charged her. The crazy bitch wouldn't mind, not with all the money she had. Money in pocket, he walked out of the building and debated what he was going to do next with his time.

He had walked a few blocks when something on one of the rooftops caught his attention. There, perched on the edge of the roof of some ordinary skyscraper, was a man. He was silhouetted against the moon, features hidden by the darkness. Black robes swathed his slim frame, billowed backwards in the wind. Something glimmered from his hip. Something sleek and gray. The cool metal of some kind of sword. And then he jumped.

Grimmjow watched as the man, defying the laws of physics, barely fell as he jumped. He landed on a rooftop some twenty yards away. Stumbled a bit as he did so, but then righted himself and stood on the building edge to look over the city again. There was something familiar about the man. Or, more accurately, there was something familiar about his clothes. Something that tugged at Grimmjow, something that he couldn't remember.

Grimmjow started climbing up the fire escape. Hands moving on cold metal rungs, pulling himself higher and higher. When he got up to the top he looked around, looked for the black-clad stranger. He was just a few rooftops away, standing in the same spot he had been when Grimmjow had started making his way up. Here the buildings were built closely together, scant yards of space separating each one. Grimmjow ran to the edge of the building and looked down. The people there looked like ants, the cars like plastic toys. Vertigo swept through him and he took a step back, before focusing instead on the rooftop in front of him.

He could do this. It wasn't very far, and he wasn't that weak. All he had to do was jump. He took a few steps back, then ran forward. He propelled himself off his feet, then all but fell as he landed on the other side, clearing it with several feet to spare. His knees felt like they were colliding into his thigh bones as he landed, but he had made it. He ran and jumped over a few more rooftops, until he was on the same one as the man. He could see his clothes better now. A black robe-like top, met at the waist by loose pants. It wasn't a style of dress anyone in this city wore, but for some reason Grimmjow felt like he had seen it before. He ran towards the man.

The man turned when Grimmjow was just a few feet away, eyes wide and mouth open in a small 'o.' Completely nondescript features. Not anyone that Grimmjow had any memory of. Grimmjow reached for him, but he jumped away, just as Grimmjow's fingers brushed against rough black cotton. The movement startled Grimmjow, made him pitch forward. His feet stumbled over the edge of the building. And then he was falling, faster and faster, as windows and glass walls flew up around him. The sounds of traffic and people were getting closer and closer. His limbs flailed as he struggled against falling, struggled against gravity, but there was nothing he could do.

The sound of ripping. The sound of screams. People's faces, shocked and scared as he fell past them. But instead of hitting the sidewalk, he kept falling. He closed his eyes. Felt his body slow, flip flop in a million different directions. And then he collided, back down, in hard-pressed sand. The breath was knocked out of him in the collision and he felt bruised all over, but he was alive. After a moment he stood up, careful not to fall on the ever-shifting sand dunes, and looked around.

Blue sand. Pink sky. He was back in his desert.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of regret my whole idea of giving each espada a sex scene, because they turned out kind of weird. I guess you can always skip them if they're too much?
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains NON-CON and SEMI-BESTIALITY (in the form of panther!Grimmjow).
> 
> Also, please help me decide what stories to work on next. Some choices are at the end of this chapter. You can also take [my poll](http://www2.adultfanfiction.net/forum/index.php/topic/24481-polls-by-crunchysalad/), which has all the choices, but you have to be a member of the forum to vote. So if you're not a member feel free to just leave a comment.

He started off walking. But the sand was ever shifting beneath his feet, swirling and receding and pushing up against him again. It was hard to keep his balance, hard to make decent time across the vast space. It wasn't as though he had anywhere to go, as though he were in any kind of a rush, but it still grated. So he changed. His torso lengthened, his limbs contracted. Soon he was all sinew and muscle, a panther instead of a man. In this form he could traverse the desert with ease. He flew over the surface of the sand, the heated surface doing nothing to the thick pad of his paws, the harsh sun almost reflecting from his fur.

A small part of him wondered what he was doing here, but most of him didn't care. He was free, at least for the moment, at least until he had to go back to that gray city of metal and glass. With no regard to anything rational or real, Grimmjow made his way through the desert. After some indeterminable amount of time he slowed and stopped, ears perking and fur standing on edge as he sensed something a few sand dunes over, near an outcropping of tall, jagged rocks. Careful to make the least amount of noise possible, he started to sneak over, curious as to what it could be.

He came to near the top of the sand dune before he stopped. From here he could just barely see into the dip below, to the bottom of the space between several dunes. Well, well. . . there was a sight he didn't expect to see.

It was Ulquiorra. And not the Ulquiorra that Grimmjow had seen before in this desert. It was the Ulquiorra from the city. A brief question ran through his head, a small musing as to what this Ulquiorra was doing here, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Instead of questioning things, Grimmjow settled into that soft, sinking sand and watched the show.

Ulquiorra was being dragged over the sand by some tall, slender man with an elongated white mask over his face. Grimmjow was downwind of them, the desert breeze carrying every single noise that they made to Grimmjow's ears. He could hear the sand shift away under Ulquiorra's weight. He could hear the man's breathing, amplified and heavy through the holes in his mask.

The two men came to a stop soon enough at the dip in the dunes. The man let go of Ulquiorra's arms, walked back around to his legs. Grimmjow watched as he kneeled by them. Grimmjow watched as the man reached towards Ulquiorra's zipper with long fingers. And he watched as the man undid those pants, as he started to peel them off in clumsy, unpracticed motions.

Ulquiorra's cock and balls came into view, resting limp between his legs. Ulquiorra's breathing hitched, just a bit, though he remained unconscious. And then Ulquiorra was naked from the waist down, his lower body completely exposed, pants discarded next to him. Grimmjow licked his lips, hunched back so he was laying on all fours. His tail swung lazily behind him, hitting the sand with short thuds with each swing. He watched as the man tilted his mask back, just so, and a pair of pink, moist lips came into view. He watched as the man bent forward, as a tongue darted out. And he watched as the man licked and slobbered at Ulquiorra's crotch. Like an animal feasting.

At the slightest response, the man moved away. Ulquiorra's unconscious body was only half hard as the sound of fabric moving over fabric ghosted towards Grimmjow's ears. A thin sash fluttered over the breeze and onto the sand, and fabric crumpled down to the man's knees. His cock came into view, long and pointed up towards the sun, dripping just a little bit from its very tip. The man stroked himself, even as he stuck two fingers into Ulquiorra's little hole. Ulquiorra squirmed away and spread his legs at the same time, inconsistent fucker. Still asleep. The man held his hip to prevent him moving too much, jammed his fingers in farther. Pulled them out and forced them back in. Ulquiorra's cock was getting nice and stiff now, little whines of pleasure coming from out of his throat.

Grimmjow pulled back his lips. Revealed large, glowing teeth. Stuck his tongue out over them. He could smell it, could taste it inside the cavern of his mouth, the scent of Ulquiorra's arousal. He could feel his own cock grow, reveal itself from beneath the armor and fur covering his skin. Could feel the breeze and sand against its raw, exposed surface.

The man was done preparing Ulquiorra. He pulled his fingers out with a wet sound and moved his whole body between Ulquiorra's legs. Grimmjow could see the tip of the man's cock press against Ulquiorra's hole, just for a moment, before he pushed it in. It was an easy, smooth movement as he buried himself to the hilt. Perhaps Ulquiorra had been entertaining other gentlemen callers earlier in the evening?

The sound that came from Ulquiorra's mouth at the intrusion was a half-whine, half-moan. Even if he wasn't aware of what was happening his body was, and it seemed to be enjoying it. Ulquiorra's body squirmed and arched and hardened with each thrust of that stiff cock inside of him. Drip. Drip. Drops of pre-cum onto his stomach, like that leaky faucet in his cramped kitchen. Ulquiorra was still hard when the man finished. When the men thrust deep inside of him, stilled, then pulled out again. An anti-climatic and too quick end, but then again the man didn't know that he had an audience. Perhaps he would have put up a better performance if he did.

The man pulled up his pants, walked away. Grimmjow watched him leave. Listened to the shifting sand. The scent of Ulquiorra's arousal still hung heavy in the air, still was evident in the stiffness of his neglected cock. Once the man was gone, Grimmjow got up on all four paws and walked towards Ulquiorra. He wanted to have some fun too, after all.

A few steps, nimble feet carrying him yards in mere seconds. And then he was there, next to Ulquiorra's prone body. He shoved his face into the other man's crotch. The scent there sent a jolt to his groin. Musky and delectable, Ulquiorra's arousal mixed with the man's cum. He moved a rough tongue out. Lapped at Ulquoirra's still hard penis. The movement elicited little moans from Ulquiorra's lips, but Grimmjow didn't linger there for long. He licked over Ulquiorra's taint, over his asshole. But he didn't shove his tongue in. Didn't want to taste another man's jizz that clearly.

He wanted to fuck. He wanted to fuck Ulquiorra. And he was going to do it. He used paws and nuzzle to turn the other man onto his stomach. Ulquiorra stirred, made a noise that sounded like waking. Of all the bad timing. But Grimmjow wasn't going to let something like Ulquiorra waking up stop him. He placed his paw on the back of Ulquiorra's shoulder, careful that the claws didn't dig in too much. Ulquiorra moaned, in pain instead of pleasure, so apparently he wasn't completely successful. Not that he particularly cared.

Ulquiorra was stirring even more. A mumbled "what" in a disoriented voice. Grimmjow moved over him, large body almost completely covering Ulquiorra's smaller frame. He brought his mouth down to Ulquiorra's shoulder, the one his paw wasn't holding down. He bit into it. Just slightly. Just enough to hold. But the pain sent Ulquiorra fully awake, sent the man's body spasming in an almost involuntary attempt to get away. But the movement only made his ass lift up in the air, only made what Grimmjow wanted to do all the more easy.

Grimmjow thrust forward. And missed, his cock sliding futilely between Ulquiorra's ass cheeks. A few more times, then. Third time's the charm, and he felt his big, barbed dick slide into the body beneath him in one forceful thrust. A cry of pain and the body scrambled some more, but it was useless. Grimmjow wasn't letting go until he had gotten off. He kept thrusting into that soft, hot body. His dick felt so good. Felt like it was in fucking heaven. A low purr built up in his throat, stayed there. Ulquiorra's hole was getting wetter and wetter, some combination of Grimmjow's pre-cum and. . . blood? Maybe it was blood. Ulquiorra was yelling at him, telling him to stop, telling him to pull it out, but the noises only spurred him on, made him harder. It was so difficult to get Ulquiorra to be anything but indifferent, and it was his indifference that Grimmjow hated the most.

Eventually Grimmjow felt himself getting close. He felt his orgasm building, larger and larger, until it washed over him like a tidal wave. Semen shot out of his cock as he buried himself deep in that velvet tunnel. And only when it was completely done, the last vestiges of his climax replaced with afterglow, did he pull out.

As soon as he let go just a little bit, Ulquiorra turned on him. He was pushed onto his back, the movement knocking the breath out of his lungs. He heard an emotionless, matter-of-fact "I'll kill you." And then he felt fists colliding with his face and body. He was turning back, back to human form, and sent his arms up to protect himself. Tried to fight back. But all his body could register was pain. And then they were a moving pile of limbs, flailing towards each other as they rolled this way and that over the sand. The taste of blood in his mouth, and then there was a flash.

There were two Ulquiorras now. Grimmjow blinked. Looked around. The three of them were sitting on the sand, around a bonfire that crinkled and sputtered with flame and heat. It was nighttime, and cold. Grimmjow looked down at himself. No blood that he could see. No broken bones. He was fine. He looked over at the first Ulquiorra. His Ulquiorra. The man looked the same as always. Not happy. Not mad. Not anything. Grimmjow looked over at the second Ulquiorra, sitting right next to the first. This one was taller, skinner, a stretched out faun with black goat legs and hoofs. Segunda Etapa Ulquiorra, Grimmjow remembered, though he didn't know where he had heard the name. This Ulquiorra was completely blank, eyes dead of any kind of emotion or intelligence. His long, chord-like tail swung back and forth, tapping against the surface of the sand.

"This is fucking weird," Grimmjow muttered, looking at the two Ulquiorras sitting next to each other.

The words made Ulquiorra's head snap up at him. "So you're talking now. How do we get out of this place, Grimmjow? How do we get back to the city?"

"What the fuck do you care? You've got no attachment to that shit-hole. Or is it more drugs you're after?"

"Tell me," Ulquiorra said. His eyes flashed, unspoken threat within them.

"Fuck if I know," Grimmjow replied. "I always just end up back there, eventually."

"The man who brought me here," Ulquiorra said. "He travelled here at will. He can bring us back."

"You mean the guy who was fucking you when I found you?"

Ulquiorra's eyes flashed again.

"Good luck finding him."

And the conversation was over, returned to silence. Grimmjow wasn't sure how long they stayed there, not talking. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It could have been days. But at some point he fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again both Ulquiorras were gone. At least it was day time now. Grimmjow walked over to the spot the fire used to be, but it was ash now. Rapidly disappearing into the sand, and soon there would be nothing there at all.

Ulquiorra might have been in a hurry to get home, but Grimmjow sure as fuck wasn't. He was perfectly content here, here in his desert. He wondered through it at his leisure, uncaring of how much time did or didn't pass. It didn't really make a difference to him. He was moving over a singular spot, identical to any other spot of sand in that vast desert, when he felt the ground give out from under him. No time to run, no time to jump away. He was already waist-deep and being sucked into the sand. Grimmjow held his breath and gave a mental "fuck you" to God, who he was sure he'd be seeing pretty soon.

There was a feeling of being crushed. Pressure on every inch of his skin. And then it felt like he was being spit out. He spun and tumbled, landing with some pain on hard rock floor. He could breath. He was alive. He opened his eyes.

He was in some kind of underground cavern. The sinkhole he had fallen in from was, from this side, a cascading fall of sand. It let in just enough light so that he could see; otherwise, the place was dark, rocky, and cool.

"Well, well. Look at what the sandfall dragged in."

It was a lazy drawl, full of soft consonants and rolling vowels. Grimmjow looked up at it, saw a man silhouetted there, features obscure but build clear enough. Tall and muscular, leaning against the orange and red layers of rock wall. A step closer and Grimmjow could make out more details. Shoulder-length wavy brown hair, a small goatee. Furs draped over his shoulders.

"Who the fuck are you?" Grimmjow asked.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you that it's rude not to give your own name when you ask someone for theirs?"

Grimmjow frowned, pushed himself to standing position.

"Forget it," Grimmjow said. "I don't fucking care."

Two directions to go in, and Grimmjow set down one of them. Walk long enough and he was bound to either find a way out or eventually reappear in the city. His footsteps echoed down the hollow cavern, followed too closely by another pair behind him. Step, step, four feet in an order-less non-rhythm. It irked Grimmjow, the sound of someone behind him, the knowledge that someone was there.

Grimmjow snapped and turned. "Will you fucking stop that?"

The man blinked at him. Several times.

". . . This is the way home for me."

Grimmjow was frozen in place, mind wrapping around the fact that actual people lived in the desert. And not just mute freak shows like desert-version Ulquiorra, but actual, normal people, with the ability to speak and rationalize. Grimmjow stayed frozen as the man ambled around and started to walk past him. Before the man's footsteps faded away to nothingness, he started to follow. No place else to go, after all, unless he wanted to turn back around. As he walked behind the man he watched the man's legs, slow-moving and lanky. He watched the man's broad back, watched its minute movements as he moved.

After awhile a door appeared on the side of the cavern, made of primitively shaped stone. The man placed a hand on it, paused. Turned his head so Grimmjow could see his silhouette.

"You coming in?"

And then he was gone, sliding into the space that must be his home. Grimmjow stared at the dark hole left by the open door. He hesitated for just a moment, but then he followed the man in.

The inside looked the same as the outside. Sedimentary rock walls, shiny layers one on top of each other. The space was bigger, vaguely square shaped, instead of a corridor. A pile of furs that must be a bed lay in the corner, and conveniently shaped rocks made up a table and two chairs. A small hole near the top of one wall, barely big enough for a cat to get through, gave light.

"Grimmjow," Grimmjow said, docile for the moment. "That's my name."

"Stark." Stark sat down on one of the rock chairs. There had been something slung over his shoulder and he slapped it onto the table. The dead carcass of some small animal. A knife appeared in one of his hands and he started to skin it.

Saliva filled Grimmjow's mouth. When had he last eaten? When had he last been hungry? Well, he was hungry now. He slid down against the wall near the door, taking a seat on the cold rock floor.

"You from the city?" Stark asked, after several minutes of skinning and silence. The carcass was a lump of pink flesh now, and he started work on cutting it into pieces.

"Yeah. You're not?"

"I am. I just prefer staying here. It's quiet here. Time moves slow. . . I can just lay here and relax, no care in the world.""

Curiosity flared inside Grimmjow's mind. "How do you do that?"

"Hmm?" Stark blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I just. . . don't go back."

"You can control it? Next time I blink I could be back in that fucking city again. I never know where I'll be when I open my eyes."

Stark scratched his head, gave Grimmjow the once-over. Maybe he thought he was crazy. "That sounds like quite a doozy. But it's your problem, not mine. I'm more concerned with what's going on in the city. The fires still going on there?"

"Yeah," Grimmjow said. "But what's that got to do with you out here?"

The man sighed. "Don't tell me I've got to explain it. . ."

Silence stretched between them as Grimmjow waited for Stark to go on, though Stark never did.

"Yeah," Grimmjow finally said, through gritted teeth. "You do."

"Look. That city and this desert occupy the same space-"

"I want an explanation, not some weird bullshit. How can two things occupy the same space? And the desert's bigger than the city, so I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

A frown, tugging on Stark's lips. "It only seems bigger. It seems endless, because there are no landmarks to tell you otherwise. But it's the same size as the city, trust you me. They're opposite sides of the same coin. So when the city gets smaller, so does the desert. And the city's burning away."

Grimmjow leaned back against the wall. It was so cool against him, so comforting. It helped him think, somehow. He remembered his car ride. The city. . . it was only the edges of it were burnt. It was true, it was burning from the outside in.

"Pretty soon both these worlds will be gone," Stark continued. "So might as well enjoy the time we've got left. You wouldn't happen to know how big the city is now, would you?"

Grimmjow blinked. Thought about it a little bit.

"H through S," he said. "H through S streets are still there, at least on twenty-second street. But some of those streets were already burned up."

"Then they're probably gone by now. Doesn't look like we're too long for this world. . . or that this world will last much longer than us."

Grimmjow leaned his head back. Stared up at the stone cavern roof. Disappear? Just like that? For some reason he couldn't find himself feeling to much one way or the other about the idea. He should be angry, he thought. Or perhaps incredulous. But this quiet indifference. . . maybe he had been spending too much time with Ulquiorra lately. His apathy was proving contagious.

"I don't believe you," Grimmjow said, but as he said it he realized the words ringing through his head were 'I don't care.' Stranger shit had been happening to him, after all, so why shouldn't the world be shrinking as well?

"Doesn't much matter to me if you believe me or not. What matters to me. . . well. . ."

The scrape of the stone chair as it moved back. Footsteps, closer and closer to him, until he could feel Stark right there. Grimmjow tilted his head forward again, found himself staring at Stark's denim-covered crotch.

"Gets lonely here in the desert," Stark drawled. "If you're going to stick around, maybe you can put that pretty little mouth of yours to good use."

"You don't look like the type with money, and I'm not interested enough to do it for free."

"I've got food. You're hungry, aren't you?"

Grimmjow's eyes flashed towards the lump of rabbit-shaped meat on the table. Yeah. Yeah, he was hungry. He straightened up a little and leaned forward, hands coming out to pull on Stark's zipper. It opened easily, Stark's cock all but spilling out as it opened, long and limp. Grimmjow didn't waste any time, wanting to get business done with so he could eat. He took the large cock into his mouth and sucked. It was hot on his tongue and grew quickly, expanding more and more until he started to choke on it. At that point he tried to move off of it, but Stark's hands tangled in his hair and kept his head there.

Grimmjow gagged on the large cock as he felt it push down his throat. With all the expertise he could muster, he forcibly relaxed his throat muscles, enough that he didn't start choking on the thing. And he did it just in time, because Stark was pulling Grimmjow's face onto his cock even more, inch by inch. Grimmjow's fingers dug into Stark's hips. He cringed at the feeling of the long cock filling up his throat. But he didn't have any choice in the matter. Soon Stark had pushed Grimmjow's head completely onto his cock. Grimmjow's nose pressed hard against pelvic bone, buried in a coarse nest of public hair.

"That's right." One hand stroked his hair gently, the other tangled in it to prevent him from moving. "Take it. Take it all. Delicious, yeah?"

And then, hard and violent, Stark started to fuck his face. He pulled his cock out and slammed it back into Grimmjow's throat, over and over again. Each time Grimmjow's nose would smash into hard pelvic bone, each time his throat would barely be able to accommodate. It fucking hurt. He just tried to take his mind off of it and hope that Stark came as soon as possible. His mouth felt like it was going dry, and his throat already felt sore.

At least he didn't have to wait too long. Hands tightened painfully in his hair. They pulled him fully onto the cock, so that his nose was smashed against Stark's crotch. It was hard to breath, with a cock down his throat and his nose smushed up like that. He flailed, but Stark's grip was firm. The guy was strong. And then it came. Hot semen, flooding down his throat, oozing back up to fill his mouth. Like he was drowning in the stuff. And he swallowed, frantically, because it was all he could do to keep from choking. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Stark stopped coming. His grip loosened and Grimmjow scrambled away, coughing as he pulled his throat and mouth from that cock.

He bent over, drops of spit and cum splattering from his mouth as he coughed. He rubbed his throat, which felt strange and raw inside. And Stark, the fucker, just walked away, zipping up his pants as he did so.

"So." A lazy drawl that belied the events that had just occurred. "Do you feel like roast or stew?"

Grimmjow woke up and jumped to sitting position. Wait. Had he been asleep? He could feel fur on his bare skin. A bed. His throat and ass burned and throbbed. And what looked like a Stark-shaped pile lay snoring beside him. At least there was a satisfying, heavy feeling in the pits of his stomach.

Grimmjow got up, not bothering to pull on any clothes. Who the hell else was here? He walked out of the cavern, looking for a smaller one that Stark must use as a bathroom. He had to have something like that, right? And Grimmjow needed to piss. He made his way down the curving corridor, more and more irritated with each foot he passed without finding something. Fuck it. He'd just go in the middle of the hallway. Not like it was a real hallway anyway.

He grabbed his cock in one hand and let the piss fly, watched as it darkened the red stone in front of him. He blinked. Red stone turned to black sky. He blinked again. Lights, neon and fluorescent. He blinked again. The sound of traffic and crowds. The feeling of wind on his bare skin. And the city, stretched out all around him. Grimmjow blinked again, but the desert wasn't coming back. He was back in the city, pissing off some godforsaken rooftop, his urine arching out neatly to fall multiple stories down into the ground.

Grimmjow looked around. Looked to one side, then another. And blinked to see a man in a black robe staring back at him, completely confused.

A fraction of a second. That was all the time he needed to react. He threw himself at the man, tackled him to the ground, closed his hands around his arms There was a fight, both of them spiraling, the man trying to get away and Grimmjow trying to keep him there. It was Grimmjow who was the victor, once he had the man pinned to the wall, once he had his hands around the man's throat.

"What the fuck is going on?" Grimmjow snarled. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Get off! Even if I told you it wouldn't matter. You wouldn't believe me."

Grimmjow dug his fingers into the man's soft throat, hard enough to make breathing just a little bit difficult. "Try me."

The man sputtered in an attempt to talk, and Grimmjow relaxed his grip just a little bit.

"I'm a shinigami," the man said, eyes a hard glare.

Grimmjow felt a harsh laugh fall from his lips. "Yeah? Some kind of reaper or something? Here to escort the dead to fucking heaven?"

"No. Just here to check up on things. Just making sure that every thing's okay in purgatory."

Grimmjow felt his blood run cold, like it was filled with the ice-nine Ulquiorra loved so much. Purgatory. He laughed, a hollow sound. "Fuck. What the fuck is that? You telling me I'm dead? That we're all dead, just waiting to be sent off to heaven?"

"No. Not all of you."

A ringing, in his ears, but the shinigami was continuing.

"Purgatory is a world that's personal to any given person. When someone's soul is sent here, a world is created for him, filled with fragments of his memory and imagination. And when his soul is judged, when it's time for it to go somewhere else, the world disappears."

He felt altogether weak. His fingers couldn't hold on. His legs couldn't stand. He let go, quite involuntarily, and crumpled to the ground. Kneeled there, hands on his stomach. "So I'm dead? What the fuck. . . what the fuck is that."

Ulquiorra and every one else, were they just twisted shadows of his memories? People he knew when he was alive? But now he was dead and cold, body and bones buried six feet under somewhere else. Worm food. Grimmjow felt sick, felt his stomach turning. And the shinigami just stood there, eyes fixed to the side. But he stood. Didn't run. And Grimmjow could feel the pity emanating from him, even as Grimmjow let his head fell into his lap.

"No," the shinigami said. "This isn't your world. You're not the one it was created for."

* * *

Ulquiorra shivered even in the heat of the desert. His body felt weak, frail, and full of need. Ice. It needed ice, flowing through its veins and enveloping him in numbness. He hated it here. He hated this never ending desert. He hated following some deformed desert version of himself around aimlessly.

But what else was he supposed to do?

When it appeared, he thought it was a mirage. A mansion of English style, made out of something that looked like white bone, ivy and flowers creeping out of the desert to surround it. He froze, stared at it, as his desert form disappeared over the horizon. But it was something. Something different from sand and dunes. He made his way towards it, until he was at the open door. Two lines of some instrumental song kept playing, over and over, and just inside he could see a metal gramophone with a needle that kept skipping to and fro. The sound of feminine humming, and he followed it inside. Past rooms and hallways, until he was inside something of a breakfast nook, large french windows looking up out over a garden of flowers so faintly colored they looked like skeletons.

Seated at the table was a rather fit elderly gentleman, a cup of tea in his hand and a plate of tiny sandwiches in front of him. And dancing around him, humming as he served him, was a man with long, blond hair and a maid's uniform.

Ulquiorra coughed.

Both men froze. Stared up at him.

"My, my." It was the elderly man who spoke first, his tone one of a statesmen. All pomp and ego. "It must be my lucky day, to have such a pretty little thing wander into my manor."

The blond man frowned as eyes traced up and down the length of Ulquiorra's body. "He's okay, I guess."

"Now, now, Findor. Please do be hospitable. Why don't you go find another cup for our new friend."

"Of course, Lord Baraggan." But he was scowling, and as he exited the room he fluffed the crinoline of his skirts up like a peacock warning off Ulquiorra.

"Please sit."

Ulquiorra obliged. He had little else to do, and at least this was a respite from wandering the desert.

"You've heard my name, but I still don't have the pleasure of knowing yours."

"Ulquiorra."

Findor came back then. In his hands was clutched a hand-painted porcelain plate of the finest quality. And on that plate was an old aluminum can. He set it in front of Ulquiorra, poured some tea inside, and smiled.

"Please enjoy. Be careful not to cut your lips on the edge, dear, it's a bit jagged."

"How considerate of you, Findor." Baraggan made a contented 'hmph' noise as Findor went back to flitting to and fro like a hummingbird, this time to water the plants that dotted the room. "Now, what brings you here, Ulquiorra love?"

"I'm trying to find my way back to a city." Ulquiorra's mouth hung open for a moment as he realized that his city didn't have a name. That was. . . odd. Cities usually had a name, didn't they? But apparently he didn't have to worry about trivial things such as names, because understanding dawned on Baraggan's face.

"Ah. The city. An absolutely dreadful place. We moved out here to the countryside long ago."

Ulquiorra looked out the window. Beyond the plants all he saw was sand, stretching in every direction. It wasn't like any countryside he had ever imagined.

"Do you know how to get back?" he asked.

"I'm sorry to say that I do not," Baraggan replied. "Though I will be happy to host you in my humble abode. I'm sure you'll find it to be more than comfortable enough."

Findor brought a duster down hard on the table. Since when had he been dusting?

"Lord Baraggan," he said, voice clipped. "What about that man? That witch doctor? Doesn't he know how to get back?"

Hard eyes under long eyelashes turned towards Ulquiorra.

"I'm sure he could get you back in a jiffy."

"Perhaps, perhaps." Baraggan folded his hands in his lap. Smiled. "But it seems a shame to send company away so quickly. Especially such attractive company. I must admit. . ."

And here Baraggan leaned forward, a sly smile on his cracked lips. His voice, when he spoke next, was a conspiratorial whisper.

". . . This might make me odd, but I quite enjoy a man with a more feminine look."

A hand, under the table, found its way to Ulquiorra's lap, even as Findor glared at him. It kneaded his thigh, teasing, promising.

"I also enjoy it when they have nice, big cocks."

The hand trailed higher, cupped Ulquiorra's limp bulge through his pants.

"I enjoy riding those big, young cocks. And I enjoy seeing those cocks bob in the air when their owners are the ones riding me."

The hand was gone. Baraggan leaned back and smiled.

"What do you say, Ulquiorra? A little tit for tat? You help put some variety into my bedside pursuits, and I'll tell you where you can find this witch doctor."

Ulquiorra's eyes flashed to Findor, who looked livid.

"Fine," he said.

"And what about you, love?" Baraggan's hand disappeared under the crinoline of Findor's too short skirt. It seemed to be massaging his thigh, massaging his ass. "Will you share nicely?"

Findor pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. Still, he seemed loath to go against his beloved lord's wishes. "Fine."

"So. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?"

Baraggan was the first to stand up, and he wrapped his arm around Findor's waist. They started to make their way out of the room. Ulquiorra followed, and it wasn't long before Findor was throwing open the doors to a bedroom, sunlight dimmed in large part because of dark, velvet curtains over the window. Baraggan made his way to a high-backed chair and sat down upon it as though he were a king sitting on a throne.

"Now," he said. "I'd like for you two to entertain me first. Perhaps some kissing and fondling of one another, while I watch, if you please."

Findor had an expression on his face like he had been asked to eat rat excrement. But he nonetheless obeyed, crawling onto the bed as he cast a glance back at Ulquiorra.

"What are you waiting for, then?" he asked. "Let's hurry and get this over with."

Ulquiorra only shrugged. Whether or not Findor enjoyed his company was of little concern to him. His type didn't swing towards the elderly, and he was just doing this to obtain information. Why Finder was so irrationally against him was beyond him. Ulquiorra climbed onto the bed next to Finder and laid on his side next to him. He reached forward, wrapped his hands around Findor's arms, and pulled him forward until their lips met. Lips pressed together. Tongues sparred. And hands ran up and down lithe, fit bodies. For all his earlier disdain, Findor didn't seem to mind their situation so much right now.

"That's right," Baraggan murmured, his voice heavy and hoarse. "But I'd like to see something a bit more. . . intimate."

Ulquiorra's hands wandered down Findor's side, his hips, his thighs. Swung back up and around to the front of his skirt. His cock was already hard and jutting out into the air, lifting his skirts up around it, so it was easy for Ulquiorra's hand to wrap around. As he started to stroke it, Findor moaned into his mouth and arched into the touch. An answering hand found its way to the front of his pants, where it made short work of opening the zipper and pulling his own cock out. Then they were each jerking off the other, hot hands on even hotter erections.

From there, it didn't take long before their cocks were pressed together and their hands were intertwined. Pre-cum flowed freely as they rubbed against each other, as both their hands intertwined and stroked in almost unison. Ulquiorra was only vaguely aware of the sound of Baraggan's chair being pushed back, the sound of heavy footsteps towards the bed, the sound of disrobing. But he was clearly aware as Baraggan's weight settled onto the mattress, shifting Ulquiorra's own body weight just a little bit upward.

"So many positions, so little time. If only I was a young man with the stamina I had back in the day."

Ulquiorra looked up to see Baraggan looking down, watching the two young men in their play. His large, calloused hand was stroking his own cock, hard and dripping from the view laid out before him. But then that hand moved. Baraggan reached out with both his hands, and wrapped each of them around one of the cocks in front of him.

"Go on and kiss each other, lovelies. I quite like watching that."

As Baraggan stroked them, Ulquiorra and Findor turned back to each other and started to kiss again. Ulquiorra's arms wrapped around the other man's shoulders and tangled in long, soft hair. Findor pressed against the embrace, bringing arms up around Ulquiorra's back. Chest to chest, pulling away at the abdomen only to allow Barragan unfettered access to their hard cocks.

"Now, how exactly shall we conduct this little dance of ours. . . I believe, Findor, that you're looking absolutely ripe for the taking."

Findor pulled away and beamed. Absolute and unnecessary smugness on his face.

"And Ulquiorra. I think I'd like to have your beautiful cock inside me, if you please."

Ulquiorra pulled away as Baraggan sunk between Findor's slim, long legs. Barragaon pulled the blond man forward by the thighs, until the very tip of cock met hole. And then, without preamble, he pushed in.

Findor's whole body arched as his eyes rolled up inside his head. He cried out in absolute pleasure, apparently accustomed enough to this that preparation was unnecessary. Ulquiorra moved away as they fucked and went to take up position behind Baraggan.

Baraggan was muscular, for his age. He would never have the body of a twenty-year-old again. . . he was stocky, and some areas seemed to have a definite sagging to them. But he was firm and fit, more so than Ulquiorra would have thought. Ulquiorra put a hand on his waistt, brought his other hand between those ass cheeks. Felt out for Baraggan's hole. And was surprised when, without much pressure applied on his part, two of his fingers just slipped in. Apparently Baraggan and Findor's "bedtime pursuits" were substantial indeed.

Ulquiorra pulled his fingers out and grabbed on to the base of his cock instead. He guided it to Baraggan's hole, slid it in, and started to fuck. It was loose but at least it was hot. For a long time he fucked Baraggan while Baraggan fucked Findor, staying relatively quiet as noises from the other two filled the room. Findor was the first to come, spraying clear semen over his maid's uniform. Baraggan followed inside Findor's ass before flipping Ulquiorra over and blowing him until Ulquiorra's load shot down his throat. All three sated, Ulquiorra tucked himself back in to his pants and zipped up.

"Where's this witch doctor you were talking about?" he asked.

Follow the freshly risen sun until it reached the center of the sky, then turn ninety degrees to the right and walk straight.

That instruction, so easy to follow incorrectly, was the only one that Ulquiorra received. He set out as soon as the sun came up the next day and started his new trek across the desert. He kept walking until nightfall, at which point he wondered if he was just walking aimlessly. But just when he was about to give up and stop for the day, Ulquiorra saw a trail of smoke from somewhere a few dunes away. He made his way there.

As he walked closer and closer to the smoke, the scene below came more and more into view. A small campfire. A small hut made out of what looked like bones. And a large, dark-skinned man, nude except for small bone fragments caught on strands that wound around his neck, over and over again like a large spider web. The campfire cast a red glow to his body. To his perfectly proportioned, perfectly muscled body. Ulquiorra, usually disinterested in such things, couldn't help but admire it, along with the thick, long appendage hanging between the two legs.

As Ulquiorra came closer the man looked up, peered at him from over the top of a gnarled wooden staff. But he didn't move or speak, just watched as Ulquiorra came closer.

"Zonmari," Ulquiorra said. "Are you Zonmari?"

"That is what I am called, yes."

A strong, even voice.

"Do you know how to get back to the city?"

Zonmari seemed to contemplate the answer, as though he didn't know it already.

"I do," he finally said. "To send someone to the city is a simple spell."

"So you'll do it?"

"It does require some ingredients. Entrails of a lizard. Water from a blood-cactus. Semen of the person being transported."

"Fine," Ulquiorra said. "I take it you have those first two things."

Zonmari nodded, made his way inside his hut of bones. Ulquiorra removed his clothes as Zonmari did so, waited while Zonmari came out. In one hand he held a glass jar, filled with a red kind of ooze. In the other hand he held what looked like butcher's paper. He set them both down on the ground, opened them up. A large finger scooped up some entrails, scooped up some ooze, and slapped them onto a large stone near the fire. He mixed them, dragged them into a pattern, chanted long strings of words. When he was done a simple mandala glowed on the rock, and he turned towards Ulquiorra, dark eyes smoldering.

"It's your turn."

"I'll need help."

At Zonmari's non-expression, Ulquiorra gestured to the thing hanging between his legs.

"I'll need that," Ulquiorra said. "It will be easier if I have that inside of me."

"If you must. But you must get it hard yourself, if you want it."

Ulquiorra nodded as he came closer. He kneeled before Zonmari, inspecting the large cock in front of him. Now, up close, he started to have second doubts about taking it inside of him. He placed his hand on one of Zonmari's thick thighs and traced a path with his tongue from the very tip of that cock to its base. He licked and sucked his way all over that cock. Up and down the sides, over the balls, over the underside. And then he opened wide and took as much of it into his mouth as he could. His cheeks and throat stretched out around it, and when he was done about half had disappeared between his lips.

He sucked and licked at Zonmari's meat for a long while. Large cocks could be difficult to get hard, had difficulties staying hard, but Ulquiorra was nothing if not diligent. He was rewarded for his hard work when Zonmari started to respond to him, when his cock finally stirred to life and started to harden. Thankfully, he wasn't much larger erect than he was limp.

As Ulquiorra sucked on that now hard cock, his fingers reached inside the jar that held the cactus water. It was slippery and wet, perfect for what he needed. Fingers completely coated in it, he brought them to his backside, and pressed them into his hole. He fucked himself as he sucked Zonmari, until he felt like he had a chance of taking that monster cock.

When Ulquiorra felt prepared he stood up. And Zonmari grabbed him, spun and pulled him, so that his relatively small back was pressed against Zonmari's large chest. An arm wrapped around his chest. Hot breath ghosted against his ear. And an even hotter cock pressed against his asshole. Ulquiorra cried out as it pressed into him, scrunched up his eyes in pain and pleasure. It hurt. It felt like he was being ripped in half. And it felt so damned good. He wasn't sure if Zonmari was all the way inside of him, but he didn't particularly care, because this much was more than enough.

Zonmari's arms hooked under his armpits, Zonmari's hands grabbed him around his head. And then he was actually being lifted into the air. His legs scrambled, wrapped around Zonmari's legs, and all the time they stayed connected to each other. And then Zonmari started to fuck him

Stars. That was all he saw. He swore he could feel Zonmari in his stomach, as impossible as that was. And Zonmari was fucking him so hard he felt like his guts were being punched out with each thrust. He let his body go limp, let it support itself on Zonmari's sturdy frame, as the other man fucked him raw. It felt good, like this, even as it hurt, even as his body protested with every movement in and out.

But his cock was still hard and dripping wet, letting out a steady supply of pre-cum. It was so hard it hurt, and flushed an angry red color. If his arms weren't locked by Zonmari's he would touch himself. But he could feel his approaching orgasm even without that, and then he could feel himself coming, dick shooting as his ass clenched around the monster inside of him.

The instant Ulquiorra's semen touched the glowing mandala, he was being ripped through space once again.

Ulquiorra blinked. He was fully clothed and on a staircase. His staircase. Hot and muggy, strangely so, though it didn't look any different than usual. He looked up. Down. Caught between two floors, he took a few steps up, until he could see a large painted '4' on the wall next to the door. His floor. He walked up, opened the door, stepped out into the hallway. The heat here was even worse. More smoldering than the desert. Almost suffocating. Ulquiorra walked towards his apartment, opened the door.

It was the sound that he noticed first. A roaring, cracking sound. It was strange that the overbearing heat was second, and the sight of flames outside his window was third. The whole city outside his window was burning. Every building, every structure, caught up in a metal bonfire.

And Grimmjow was on his bed, leaning against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

Ulquiorra walked towards the window, doing his best to ignore the sense of burning as he did so. He stuck his head out the window. Looked left. Looked right. Everything was on fire, even the streets. Like some Christian or Islamic rendition of hell. He looked down. Even the first two floors of his building was on fire. Ulquiorra stuck his head back in and walked towards Grimmjow.

"Let's go," he said. "We have to get out of here being this building goes up in fire."

"Go where?" Grimmjow asked, voice dull and listless, eyes still dazed as they stared up at the ceiling. "Whole city's fucking burning. Even if it wasn't there's no point. No fucking point to anything."

"Let's go, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow turned towards him then, those blue eyes glowing with a red hue as they seemed to look right through him.

"How much of him did you put in me?"

"What are you talking about?" Ulquiorra didn't have time to deal with Grimmjow's insanity. It was hotter, now, he could feel it.

"The man I'm based on. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, real life version. How much of him did you put in me? Is he exactly like me? Or am I some twisted, bizarro version of him?"

"If you can't pull yourself together, I'm going to have to leave you here." Ulquiorra grabbed Grimmjow's arm, only to have the other man yank it away.

"You're the only real thing in this goddamned world, and you don't even know it." Grimmjow reared back, sent spit flying out to hit against Ulquiorra's cheek. "Fuck you."

"Fine." A word through gritted teeth. "Stay here."

Ulquiorra turned, walked away. He couldn't go downstairs; it was all on fire. He walked back to the window. . . the bottom few stories of the fire escape was also up in flames, consumed by the fire that had taken over the streets. A noise, behind him, and Ulquiorra turned to see that Grimmjow was getting out of the bed.

"You wanna go somewhere?" Grimmjow asked. "The only way to go is up."

The man was right. It was a vantage point at the worse. A means of escape at the best. Ulquiorra walked past him and out to the hallway, indifferent at this point as to whether Grimmjow would follow. But the other man did, steps sounding several feet behind him, as he made his way through the hall, up the stairs. They sounded ambling, slow. And yet Grimmjow managed somehow to keep up with him.

Ulquiorra wasn't sure what he was hoping for when he got to the roof. A way across the rooftops, perhaps, as densely packed as these buildings were. A path somewhere safe. But when he opened the door all he felt was blistering heat and all he saw were flames. He walked forward as red and yellow and white danced all around him. Not one building, save for his, wasn't covered in fire.

And, a few blocks away, burnt out black buildings were crumbling like so much ash, collapsing to the ground and blowing back up into the air. Clouds of soot hovered yards off the ground, swirling like mini-tornadoes. Grimmjow was saying something, but Ulquiorra couldn't hear him past the roar of the fire.

Ulquiorra walked up to the edge of the building. There was nowhere to go. There was nothing to do.

The fire had spread quickly. It was licking at the rooftop, about to climb over. Ulquiorra turned around, looked at Grimmjow, but Grimmjow wasn't there anymore. Flames stood where he used to be. Giant, eight-foot flames, and they were closing in on Ulquiorra. Soon he could feel them at his hands, at his feet, all around him. He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

Only to feel, in the very next instant, the absence of anything. Ulquiorra opened his eyes, confused. Only to see desert stretching all around him. But this wasn't Grimmjow's desert. This wasn't the desert he had been in before. The sand here was white. The sky was a dull gray-blue. Hueco Mundo, his mind supplied, though he wasn't sure where the words came from.

With nothing else to do, Ulquiorra walked. Walked past small, skeletal creatures that seemed to pay no notice to him. Walked past what looked like ruins, bone-white piles of rubble in the sand. With every step he took he felt like he was becoming more and more conscious. Like. . . like he had just been in a dream. But at the same time him was fading. He could see it when he looked at his hand, when he could see the scenery behind it. He was insubstantial. Partly transparent and disappearing fast.

And then, after miles of walking, he came across a rock. And leaning against that rock, bloody and breathing heavily, was Grimmjow. Ulquiorra walked up to him, took in the sight. It was Grimmjow, but he was different, half his jaw covered with a fragment of a skull, a strange hole in the middle of his stomach. There were minute differences as well. The shape of his eyebrows. The slope of his shoulders. The exact tone of his skin. But this Grimmjow, Ulquiorra thought, seemed familiar. More familiar than even the one he was used to.

 _Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, real life version._

Grimmjow's earlier words echoed through his head, but he didn't have much time to think about it, because this Grimmjow was looking at him. Glazed eyes focusing on him.

"I thought you died."

A low voice, heavy with everything intangible.

"I felt your reiatsu go out while you were fighting the shinigami."

A laugh, clipped and depressed.

"Does that mean I'm dying too? What happens when a dead person dies, anyway?"

Another laugh, louder this time, before Grimmjow's lips drew into a line. Deadly serious.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I wanted to be the one to kill you."

An arm reached out. Fingers barely brushed his neck. A soft caress, heat radiating onto his skin where the tips of Grimmjow's fingers touched.

"Wait for me. Our next lifetime, we'll settle this."

And then Grimmjow's eyes were closing. He was still breathing. Just barely, but he was breathing. Ulquiorra wasn't sure if he would survive, but then he wondered if it would even matter. He could feel himself fading even more. When he looked down at his hand, it was almost entirely gone.

"Next lifetime," Ulquiorra promised, wondering when that would be.

He could feel himself disappear, and he wondered, in his last moment, where his soul was being sent now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of writing a Porn!withPlot series in which Ichigo gets it on with everyone else. Which plot seems more interesting?  
> 1\. Ichigo and Renji are two straight boys in need of cash when Urahara comes up to them with a proposition.  
> 2\. Ichigo, a successful adult, comes back to town for an ex's bachelor party. As he deals with his ex getting married, he gets 'reacquainted' with his old 'friends.'


End file.
